The Beast's Ward
by Saiyaness28
Summary: A retelling of Beauty and the Beast. After Isabel's father is lost at sea, she is sent to live with her new guardian, a distant cousin that's not at all what he appears to be. His beastly form hides a beautiful heart. Read and Review!
1. Prologue

The Beast's Ward

A Beauty and the Beast Retelling

By: Allie Salone

"_The most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched, they must be felt with the heart."_

_- Helen Keller_

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><p><span>Prologue<span>

A young girl with raven curls bounded about her ornately decorated parlor. The expensive dress she wore, the fineness of its satin and lace, the womanly manners that were taught to her by her tutor, and the valuable treasures around her were forgotten as she played with her little dog on the parlor floor. "Fetch, Foxy!" She commanded gleefully, tossing a small rag doll across the room for her pet. Foxy, a pup that was little more than a living, breathing ball of golden fluff, bounced away to retrieve the doll for her beautiful friend.

The girl was indeed beautiful. Her dark hair shone in the firelight with vibrant colors like the glossy feathers of a raven. It flowed down her back in waves and curled at the ends. Her large eyes gleamed in brilliant azure beneath fans of thick, long lashes. Her features were small a delicate, as was her petite frame. At only seventeen, she was the jewel of London, outshining all around her. Her beauty was made all the more appealing by her selflessness and sweet demeanor. She exuded love and joy. Her soul was far more beautiful than her appearance.

Her father watched his only child play with her little dog. He smiled proudly at her, fatherly love swelling his heart. No father had ever had such a child. She was lovely inside and out, yet she seemed oblivious to it all. She went about her life, focused solely on her beloved father and the pets she adored to surround herself with. She never noticed the looks of desire or jealousy that often came her way as she walked through the streets. Her father, Peter, wished he could be so oblivious.

"Isabel, stop playing with Foxy, please. Your dinner is getting cold and there's something I must discuss with you before I leave tomorrow." He said, telling her to hurry and wash her hands before sitting down to eat.

Isabel quickly put Foxy in her room and scrubbed her hands clean before returning to the dining table. "I'm starving." She grumbled, plopping down in her chair with little grace. She set to tearing into a buttered roll with her fingers.

Her father chuckled quietly as he sipped a glass of rose red wine. Beautiful as she was, Isabel was far from perfect. Female formalities were lost on her. She found all the strict rules, boring and tiresome. Dresses were just silly. You can't run in them! She'd destroyed quite a few of her dresses climbing trees in her day. Some of them were very expensive imports he'd brought back to her from his world travels. He thought that if he gave her really nice gowns, she'd grow to like them, but they seemed to have the opposite effect. If she could get away with it, she'd wear nothing but men's clothes.

"Isabel, as you know I'll be sailing for Spain tomorrow to barter my goods. Is there anything I can bring back for you?" He asked. He waited patiently for her to finish swallowing the bread in her mouth.

"A gift?" She asked. "Father, you needn't do that. I have everything I could possibly want." She said, motioning at the grandeur around her.

"I insist." He said, smiling ear to ear. "I can't leave you for such a long time and not bring you anything to reward your patience. Name anything and it'll be yours."

Isabel thought quietly for a moment. She picked up her glass and swirled the golden cider within, watching it spin round and round the glass. "Well…there is one thing that I'd like…a parrot. You know, one of those birds that can talk? I'd love to have one of those. I adore Foxy, but she can't really talk to me when you're away. It's very quiet around here when you're gone."

Peter felt his chest tighten with sadness. She needed someone to talk to. He'd never given much thought to how lonely his daughter must feel when he was gone. After her mother died when she was just four years old, Peter and her animals were all that Isabel had to keep her company. She was home taught by a tutor, and she really didn't have any friends her own age. "I'll certainly look for one, dear one." He said, trying desperately to hide his sadness with a smile. She grinned excitedly back at him, eager to meet her new, feathered playmate.

The next morning, Peter bid farewell to his daughter at the London port. It was a brief affair. "Good bye, my dear Isabel. I love you, daughter." He cooed sweetly to her. He hugged and kissed her rosy cheeks. "Be good." He said. He pet Foxy's furry head. "That goes for the both of you." He and Isabel laughed together before he gave her a final kiss on her forehead and swiftly turned to board his ship, which bore his dead wife's name. _Beatrix_.

He waved good bye to his child from the bow of the ship as he pulled away from the harbor, that always present smile spread across his whiskered face. Isabel waved good bye with a bittersweet smile as she had a hundred times before, knowing that it would be quite a while until she saw her father again, never dreaming that it might be the last.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One: Unfortunate News

I stared out the carriage window, absently stroking Foxy's thick fur as she slumbered on my black satin clad lap. Today was a perfectly somber day, perfect to match my dreary mood and the utter sorrow that had taken over my life.

Three weeks prior, I received the most horrible of news. Father had been gone nearly a month and I was looking forward to his return. When I was younger, he'd have my tutor, Mrs. Blackmoore, come and stay with me, but now I insisted on taking care of myself in his absence. This was partly due to my growing need for independence, but mostly it was because Mrs. Blackmoore irritated me beyond imagining. She was a terribly shrill woman and she never let me do anything but sit and sew for hours on end. More than two days with her, and I'd go mad! Though it was terribly lonely without my father around, I had gotten used to it over the years. It would be a relief once he was back again. I worried about him. He wasn't getting any younger. I was hoping that he'd be back within the next few days and was making preparations for it. I cleaned the entire house and started planning the menu for his welcome home dinner. Then, in the late afternoon, I heard a knocking at the door. I thought it odd that someone was visiting. It was such a rare occurrence. When I opened the door, I saw a man, dressed in the uniform of the royal Navy standing in the doorway. The man's face was filled with worry. He handed me a letter and bowed to me slightly. "I'm sorry, Miss Craft, but I'm afraid I have some unfortunate news. The _Beatrix_ never reached the Marin Port where it was due to enter Spain. It is presumed to be lost at sea."

My father? Gone? I couldn't believe it. I dared not believe it. I couldn't bare the thought of being an orphan, of never seeing my father again or hearing his voice. What I longed for most was to see his smile again. I would have given anything for that. I put off taking care of his final business for weeks, hoping that the naval officer was wrong and that my father would sail into the London harbor all well and good soon. However, the date of his expected arrival came and went. My father never came back and I could no longer pretend that everything was fine. I had to face the fact that the _Beatrix_ had sank or was captured by pirates. Either way, my father and the rest of the crew were most likely dead. All I could do now was try to live as best I could without him. Now here I was, on my way to meet with Thomas Bindley, the executor of my father's will to see what would become of me and my father's estate.

Mr. Bindley was a very dreary man in his own right. He was tall and skeletally thin. Dark shadows painted the hollows around his eyes and along his cheeks. He wore an ill fitting suit that was all black, as were his eyes and his somewhat greasy looking hair. He made a sour face at me when I entered his office with my dog in my arms. I half expected him to yell at me, but instead he painted on a fake smile and gestured towards the empty seat in front of his desk. "Ah, Miss Craft. I've been awaiting your arrival. Please, do sit down here and we'll get straight to business." He said with forced politeness.

"Thank you for seeing me today, Mr. Bindley. Forgive me for bringing my dog. She's been clinging to me like a baby since father went away." I said as I sat down. I tried very hard to sound grown up and to sit up straight like Mrs. Blackmoore taught me. It was very difficult to keep the tremor of grief out of my voice, but I somehow managed.

"I am glad that you are finally coming to see me. The sooner we settle your father's final business, the better, you understand." He said, glancing up at me over his spectacles, which sat lowly on the bridge of his crooked nose.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I should have come sooner. Father's…disappearance came as quite a shock. It took some time for me to come to terms with it."

In reply, he merely murmured. I doubted that he was really listening to me while he scanned my father's will. "Miss Craft, I'm afraid I've found a problem with the will." He said when he finished. He took off his spectacles and looked at me with his dead black eyes. "It seems that it is a bit dated. Your father had it drawn up when you were only seven. It states that you must remain under the care of a legal guardian until your eighteenth birthday. Until then, your father's estate will be placed in a trust. You won't be able to collect your inheritance until you are a legal adult."

"What?" I gasped. I jumped in my seat, scaring poor Foxy in the process. "Sir, I need that money to live off of! What am I to do for the next year?"

"As I said, you'll go to live with a guardian, which is usually the next of kin." He said, his tone indifferent, his face just as dead and cold as ever.

"Who? My mother's family all live in America and my father broke his ties with his family long ago. I've never met any of them. I don't even know if their still alive." I explained. My father was all I had, my one tie to the outside world. Without him, I had no one and nothing. I bit at my lip, fighting with all I had not to make a fool of myself and cry right there in the middle of Mr. Bindley's office.

"Not to worry." That fake smile appeared again. "I've already sent out letters to your father's family. Your mother's kin were not able to be located."

"Have you received any replies?" I asked.

"Only one." He passed me a letter, sealed in crimson wax, over the desk. The seal bore the image of a rose in full bloom. I gently opened it and read it as Mr. Bindley droned on. The style of the writing was choppy and not at all pretty, more like a child's than an adult's.

The letter read:

_Dear Mr. Bindley,_

_I am saddened to learn of my cousin's premature passing. However, I am honored that you would ask me to take in his orphan. I am only distantly related and have never met Miss Isabel, but if she will have me as her guardian, I am more than happy to open my doors to her. I am looking forward to meeting her in the near future. _

_Sincerely,_

_Christopher Thorn_

_P.S. I have enclosed with this letter, a rose from my garden, see to it that Miss Isabel gets it. It is a gift of condolence. May it comfort her and bring her peace in this trying time._

"He mentions sending a rose?" I inquired.

"Oh, yes, I nearly forgot." He bent to the side and opened up one of the drawers of his desk. A moment later he presented me with a long and narrow box, bound with red and gold ribbons, tied in a beautiful bow.

I opened up the box and withdrew from it a pristine rose with petals of the deepest red I'd ever seen. It's petals were tightly coiled as if the flower had only moments before started to bloom, despite the fact that it had been in the box for days. I held it up to my nose, admiring its scent and its remarkable beauty. I noted that the thorns had been lovingly and carefully removed and its stem had been cauterized to prevent it from dieing quickly. Mr. Thorn had taken great care in sending the rose to me and it eased my worry. If he could care so well for a simple flower, then he must be a descent man. "Will you tell me what you know of Mr. Thorn?" I asked absently, the gentle, intoxicating scent of the rose filling my mind with fog.

"He's in his mid twenties. He's never married. I'm not sure what he does for an occupation, but he seems to be doing well for himself. He lives in a mansion outside of the city. He refuses to meet with me in person, but he is the only one of your relatives to offer you aid. What do you think? Will you accept his offer?"

"What choice do I have?" I sighed wearily. "If I don't agree, I'll be on the streets for the next year. Please send word to him as soon as possible that I will accept him as my legal guardian."

"Excellent. Don't worry about anything. I'll have everything squared away. I'll let you know when you'll be leaving and will personally escort you to Mr. Thorn's home myself." He smiled at me again, showing all his dingy yellow teeth.

I gathered my things and headed for the door. I sniffed at the rose, never allowing my hand to drag it away from my nose. So long as I smelled its sweet scent, I couldn't feel the hollowness inside of me, where the love of my father used to reside. "Please thank Mr. Thorn for the rose." I said, turning back to Mr. Bindley as I opened the main door. "It has already been a comfort to me. It is a beautiful gift."

Back at home, I sat at the dining table, dressed only in my nightdress. I looked around at all of my worldly possessions. All these things, these trinkets and proof of wealth meant absolutely nothing now. If all of it vanished I wouldn't care. Why? Out of everything that god could take away, why did have to be my father? A month ago, money and possessions seemed so important. Now, I'd give it all away and live like a beggar if it meant having my father back.

"This is it, Foxy." I said, looking down sadly at the fluff ball at my feet. She looked up at me with her small black eyes and wide puppy grin, completely unaware of the turmoil in my heart. "Soon we're going to be far away from all of this. I can't say that I'll miss it. So long as father is gone, none of it means a thing." I scooped her up and buried my face in the scruff around her neck. "Oh, Foxy, I miss him so much." The empty halls of Craft Manor soon echoed with my sobs of grief. The tears I'd fought back since I'd learned of his passing, now pushed their way to the surface and I, exhausted from it all, simply let them come.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter Two: Faceless 

Christopher Thorn, the bachelor distant cousin that was soon to be my legal guardian, replied promptly to Mr. Bindley's letter. He was glad that I had chosen to come stay with him and was looking forward to meeting me.

Today, I was to leave my childhood home in departure for a home I'd never seen, to live with a man I had yet to meet, a man I hadn't even known existed until recently. Leaving the house and all the wealth within wasn't very hard. It was leaving behind the memories that bothered me most. I was born in my father's house. My mother died there. All the happy memories I carried with me were made there. As I closed the door for the final time, I felt my childhood take it's final breaths and die within my heart. That part of my life was over and even if I came back to the house one day, I'd never have it back.

Out of all my worldly possessions, I took only what I truly needed. The expensive imported dresses that my father had given me were left behind in favor of the cheap and patched one's I wore when playing outside with the animals. I left all the jewelry I owned, save for my mother's wedding ring, which I wore about my neck on a golden chain. Out of a house filled to the brim with stuff, I came out with only one small suitcase of things and a fluffy golden dog. I'd given away all my other pets. My pony, Persephone, my cats Romeo and Juliet, my father's fox hounds, even the pair of silly goats I'd saved from the butcher's knives, had been sent to better homes in the countryside. It was only Foxy that I refused to part with. Father had given her to me as a Christmas present and she'd been faithfully at my side ever since. She seemed to understand the sorrow in my heart. She let me cry into her fur for hours without complaint and licked the fallen tears from my cheek. Without her, I feared that I'd fall apart. I wasn't sure if Mr. Thorn would approve of her presence, but I simply had to keep her.

"Hurry now, Miss Craft." Mr. Bindley scolded shrewdly from within his fine black carriage. "You mustn't dawdle. Mr. Thorn is expecting you within the next few hours."

With a discreet sigh and role of my eyes, I passed my suitcase to a young coachman. "This all you have, Miss?" He asked, looking at the modest bag and the grand home it came from with a look of utter befuddlement.

"Yes it is." I answered. "That is all that I need." I smiled slightly at him, before I moved away to climb into the carriage.

"You're bringing that dog?" Asked Mr. Bindley, glaring at poor Foxy with disapproval. "Couldn't you have given it away like your other pets?"

"I couldn't bare to part with her." I replied softly, trying my best to keep my boiling rage out of my voice. "Besides, I'm sure Mr. Thorn won't mind me keeping a little lap dog."

"Take her if you like, but don't be surprised if he asks you to get rid of it." He said sourly.

I tightened my arms around Foxy, holding her ever closer to my heart. It? Foxy wasn't an it! Mr. Bindley was an it! When I looked at him I felt like I was looking at a corpse, rather than a live person. He was ugly inside and out. I'd be glad when I was rid of him. Why father chose him to be the executor of his will was beyond me. Still, his words put a grain of worry in my thoughts. What if Mr. Thorn didn't let me keep her? Would I soon lose the only friend I had left?

I forced the thought from my head. I turned my body more towards the window, forcing myself to watch the scenery and forget that there was even the possibility of losing the friend in my arms. I wouldn't face it, not until I had no other choice.

The tall buildings of London, slowly faded away into long expanses of forest and fields filled with crops. From time to time, small farm houses would appear beyond the fields. The countryside was much quieter than the city, I could see, for we rarely passed another living soul on the road. The only sound that came to my ear was the rhythmic pounding of the horses' hooves on the dirt road. I closed my eyes for what I thought would only be a moment.

I stood upon at pitching ship. Waves crashed over the bow. Men scrambled to their posts, in a feeble attempt to keep the ship afloat. The ship rolled from side to side as it was tossed violently in the waves, as if it were Poseidon's favorite toy. The fact that I stood so still on the deck, without tumbling over the sides was remarkable. Over the wind and waves, I could hear a man barking orders. "That's it boys, keep her steady! We'll get her through this! I won't loose this ship to the water!" I turned and looked up at where the captain stood, steering the ship. There my father was, gripping the wheel with all his might. Why was he steering? He was no captain. He merely owned the boat and paid the wages of the sailors. "Brace yourselves!" He shouted as another wave crashed over the ship. Water rushed over the _Beatrix_' s deck, covering us all. Water rolled over my head and flowed into my open, screaming mouth. My lungs choked on the invading water. They ached as I reached towards the surface, the _Beatrix_ being pulled further and further beneath the twisting sea.

My vision blurred and darkened, death taking hold. Then, just as I was about give up, a red rose drifted in front of my face. A man's rich voice, deep and soothing echoed in my head. "Isabel, take this rose and remember me." I reached for the rose, but my fingers never touched it, though it seemed so close. It drifted further from reach and I felt the last shattered pieces of my heart crumble to dust as I died.

"Miss, wake up." Commanded Mr. Bindley, nudging my side with the handle of his cane. I blinked awake, finding myself still shaking from the terrible dream. Was that the horrible end that my father met? I hoped and prayed that he did not feel as lonely and terrified as I had been in the dream. I hoped against hope that he hadn't suffered, knowing deep down that he probably did.

Foxy and I climbed out of the carriage and peered up at the impressive mansion that was to be our new home for the next year. It was expansive, its form built entirely of red bricks. It had several high pitched roofs and tall windows, which curved at the tops. I counted at least three chimneys. The entire estate was surrounded by a fence, made of twisted iron. Rose vines climbed over it and looped through the bars. The soft red roses bloomed beautifully, despite the chill in the autumn air. The entire lawn and surrounding garden was lush and green. It was an Eden, yet untouched by the harsh hand of the coming winter.

"Come along." Mr. Bindley ordered, hobbling ahead of us with his cane.

Petting Foxy for reassurance, I followed Mr. Bindley to the front door of the mansion. He reached for the large knocker, which looked like the head of a lion, his mouth opened in a fearsome roar. He knocked on the door only once, before the door swung open. We entered the front hall, expecting to be greeted either by the master of the house himself, or by a servant. Instead, we were met with emptiness and silence. The front hall's floors were made of polished white marble. It flowed into a sitting room to our left and an enormous dining room to our right. The long table in the dining room was bare, without place settings or even a candlestick. It looked as though it had been left unused for weeks. There was a small table beside the base of the winding staircase in front of us. Upon it sat a simple vase, filled with a bouquet of roses of every color and shade I could imagine. Above it, the wall was oddly bare. The golden wallpaper, endowed with rose vines that climbed up and down the length of the wall, seemed to be newer in one spot than the rest of the wall, as if something had once hung there, shading it from damaging dust and ware.

"Hello!" Mr. Bindley called out. His voice bounced back at him from the depths of the grand house. "Mr. Thorn, I've brought Miss Craft!"

I looked around and above me. The ceiling was very high and above my head hung a beautiful chandelier. However, its lights were left unlit, as were the sconces by the door. The only light in the house came through the windows. I was struck by how empty the house seemed. It was not filled with things as my own house was. It contained only the bare necessities. No money had been wasted on decorating it or even making it seem lived in. In fact, it was as if the house had been abandoned.

"Perhaps he's in the garden." Mr. Bindley mused and motioned to open the door again. He suddenly stopped as footsteps echoed above us from the next floor up. We listened as the footsteps grew nearer, making their way down the winding staircase before us. A pair of large boots appeared on a lightened step, the rest of the body hidden in darkness. The man stopped and didn't come down further.

"Thank you for coming." Said the man in a pleasant and richly deep voice. "I am sorry to have been an inconvenience to you, Mr. Bindley. I thank you for escorting my cousin here."

I peered through the darkness, trying my hardest to catch a glimpse of my guardian's face, but all that I could see was the gleam of his eyes. They seemed to glow a bright blue. It eerily reminded me of the way a nocturnal animal's eyes shone at night.

As I was doing so, his voice took on a malicious edge. "Leave now." He ordered, nearly growling at the old man. Mr. Bindley and I both jumped in surprise at the sound of his voice. Clearing his throat and mumbling to himself, Mr. Bindley rushed from the house, closing the door too harshly behind him.

Mr. Thorn sighed heavily. "I despise lawyers. They're a slimy bunch." He said, his bright eyes glaring at the door. They shifted towards me and the shine left them. I could see now that his eyes were actually a lovely silver grey. "So you are Peter Craft's daughter?" He inquired, chuckling huskily. "I have to admit I'm pleasantly surprised. You're prettier than I thought you'd be."

"Thank you." I replied automatically, unsure of how complimentary that statement was, but blushing nonetheless.

"What is that thing?" He asked, the growl seeping in again as he noted Foxy's presence.

"My dog, Foxy. I know I should have given her away before I came, but I just couldn't." I explained, stubbornly keeping the tears swallowed back. "Do you mind if I keep her? I promise she won't be a bother."

His eyes narrowed at me. "Keep her out of my sight and it shouldn't be an issue." He said coldly. "If I find her roaming about on her own, I can't guarantee her safety."

"You wouldn't!" I gasped in horror, holding Foxy so tight the poor dog could barely take a full breath. There was such a cold feeling to his words, so void of any human compassion that it truly frightened me. He meant what he said.

"You're in my home now, Miss Craft. You must respect my rules."

"I'm not a child." I retorted, glaring back at him.

"No, but you are in my care." He replied evenly. "I am not asking too much of you. The restrictions that I have placed on you are minor." He lifted up his hand and waved it around before him, gesturing to the expanse of his mansion. He had impossibly large hands, covered in thick leather gloves. "First, you will have full range of my mansion, save for the third floor, which is solely my suite. You may take any room you like on the first and second floors. You are not, under any circumstances to venture onto the third floor. Secondly, you may take breakfast, lunch and tea in your room, but for dinner you must dine with me. Dinner is always served at six. No exceptions. And you must dress accordingly. If you do not have fine dresses, I will have them provided to you. Thirdly, keep your little dog away from me. Any questions?" He asked, shifting from side to side on the step. It creaked noisily in protest against his weight.

"Won't you come down and meet me properly. I still have yet to see your face." I said, pushing aside my aggravation. It's only a year. I reminded myself. Only a year.

I couldn't see a single detail through the darkness that shrouded him, yet I could hear the smile in his voice. "We will meet properly at dinner tonight I assure you. Until then, feel free to wander the halls. If you need anything, my servants will attend you."

I looked around to look for any signs of others in the house and just as I turned back to ask what servants he spoke of, I saw that he was gone from his place upon the stairs. I hadn't heard him ascend again.

I took his advice and wandered the first and second floors of the mansion. Foxy followed at my heels. I was sadly disappointed by the man I met today. He was entirely different from the one I imagined after reading the letter and receiving the brilliant rose. I had thought that he'd be kind. I was very much mistaken.

There wasn't much to see in the house. One room was just as bare as another, only holding a simple bed, perhaps a wardrobe or a chair as well. The marble floors ended on the first floor, the rest was laid with fine cherry wood. Though the furnishings were simple, there were roses everywhere. They were lovingly painted on the wall paper, carved intricately into the railing of the staircase, and appeared in the tapestries and rugs. Wherever there was an empty surface, there was at least one vase, filled with them. There were never any other flower. Only roses. Mr. Thorn obviously had a great fondness for them.

I ended up settling in one of the smaller rooms on the second floor. I chose it for the canopy bed, which like the staircase bore engravings of rose vines climbing around its posts and a giant open rose at the center of the headboard. I found it odd that unlike the other rooms I'd seen, the bed had already been made, with fabrics of rich crimson and golden silk.

I laid my humble suitcase on the bed. I sat Foxy beside it. She curled up there and tried to sleep. Opening up the suitcase, I withdrew the crimson rose that Mr. Thorn had sent to me with his letter. It had sat in a vase by my bedside ever since I received it. It had never withered and still had yet to open it's petals any further. It still appeared to be fresh from the bush it had been cut from. I brought the flower to my nose and inhaled its scent deeply. It once again filled my heart with relief, easing the ache in my chest. "How could anyone who was kind enough to send such a powerful gift, be so cold?" I asked the open air. Foxy stirred slightly, opening her eyes to look at me and just as quickly closing them again. I thought of throwing it away. Mr. Thorn was not the kind hearted gentleman I'd hoped he was. Yet, I couldn't bring myself to do it. Instead, I placed it inside one of the three bouquets of other perfect roses that sat on the vanity by the bed.

Just as I did so, there was a gentle knock at the door. Opening it, I found a man in a butler's black and white uniform standing on the other side, but instead of a kindly human face a plain Venetian mask stared blankly back at me. No human eyes met mine, only blackened darkness. Stunned silent, I stared at him. Without a word, he bowed and presented me with a box wrapped up with a bow.

"Thank you." I said weakly as I took it from him. He bowed again and wheeled away, quickly disappearing around the bend at the end of the hall.

Bewildered to say the least, I opened the gift to find a luxurious gown within. It was a sapphire blue with crystals sewed into the bodice. The skirt was full with many bustles and pick ups. My father had given me many ornate gowns, but never one quite so grand. On top of it lay a card which simply stated: _Wear this at dinner. There are shoes to match in the wardrobe._ It was written in Mr. Thorn's familiar terrible handwriting.

Opening the wardrobe, I found the shoes. They were silver with what looked like real sapphires set in the buckles. I felt like I was about to go to a ball rather than a simple dinner. Though the gown and shoes were lovely, I had misgivings for wearing such a flashy thing while still in morning. It wasn't proper. I'd never really cared about following the rules of etiquette, but to change out of my mourning black so quickly after my father's demise felt wrong. Therefore, the sapphire dress and shoes were put away in the wardrobe for another day in favor for one of my nicer black gowns. Surely he'd understand.

After changing and penning up my hair, I left Foxy in my room while I went down for dinner at six. I went, not out of obedience but purely curiosity. This would be the first time meeting Mr. Thorn face to face.

As I rounded the corner into the dining room, I saw a bustle of energy. A room that just an hour before was bare and empty was now beautifully decorated, with a table laden with all kinds of delicacies and crowded with maids and butlers all wearing black and white uniforms and expressionless masks with empty eyes. At the center of the mass of servants, a man stood with his back to me. He was extremely large, built like an ox, thick and powerful looking. He wore a jacket of the same blue as the gown I'd been given. His hair was honey gold and it was wild, falling about his head and shoulders in complete disarray. Some of it stuck up away from his head completely.

"Mr. Thorn?" I inquired. Who else could this man be? I recognized the slightly scuffed boots and the leather gloves on his hands. The servants all turned their blank faces towards me, their eyeless eyeholes glaring accursedly at me.

The man stiffened at the sound of my voice. "Miss Craft." His voice was a low breath. "You are early."

"Only by a few minutes." I said, glancing at a grandfather clock in the corner of the dining room. I was early by five minutes.

"It is fine. I was still in the middle of preparing for you." He said, his back still to me. His hands raised to clutch the back of a chair as though he needed the extra support.

"Won't you turn around?" I asked. "You promised a proper meeting tonight." I reminded him, taking a careful step forward. From the entrance way, the chandelier came to life, the lights lighting all on their own accord. It bathed the house in light. Somehow, Mr. Thorn's hair looked even odder than before.

"I did promise, didn't I?" He said, sounding breathless. "Before I turn around, will you promise not to be frightened? Will you promise not to scream?" He asked. I noticed that his shoulders seemed to be trembling. He was frightened. Of what, I wasn't sure.

"Why would I scream?" I asked. I felt butterflies flutter in my stomach.

"Do you promise?" He repeated firmly.

"Yes." I replied, growing more and more nervous by the second.

Slowly and hesitantly, he began to turn around. As he did so, more and more of his face was enveloped in light, revealing the horror that he'd warned me of. Christopher Thorn was not a man at all. He was beast wearing human clothes! Before I could catch myself, I let out a scream. I broke my promise. I ran.

I darted from the room, fleeing from my monstrous guardian. My first instinct was to find Foxy. I couldn't leave her in this place, to be killed and eaten by that thing. What was he? I wondered. Could my eyes be trusted? What I'd seen hadn't made any sense. A man with the head of a lion? How could that be? What devil had he made a deal with?

I could hear him roaring from the dining room, snapping orders to the faceless servants. "Lock the doors! Seal the gate! We can't let her escape!" He snarled threateningly. Then the sound of rushing footsteps followed, firm and heavy on the marble floor. They shifted and changed to the sound of something sharp scraping across the glossy surface.

I was running as fast as I possibly could in a dress, yet it wasn't long before the scratching and heavy breathing were right behind me. Suddenly a solid, strong arm, seized me by the waist and dragged me back. He pinned me against a wall, his gloveless hands gripping my arms at either side of my head. I could see now that although the hands were human, they were covered in pale golden fur and the nails were sharp and pointed. "Stop it! Stop, you ungrateful girl!" He raged at me as I thrashed in his grip, flashing long, sharp teeth mixed with blunted human teeth. "Out of all your retched kin, I was the only one who cared enough to open my doors to you! And this is how you repay me? By running and screaming like I'm the devil himself!"

"You're a monster!" I cried out, turning my face away from his snarling muzzle, finding his teeth far too close for comfort. His hands tightened around my wrists, sending a wave of pain shooting through my arms. I screamed again. "Stop! You're hurting me!"

At once, he released me and reeled away. He spat a curse at himself. His eyes were wide and wild. A strange look, almost like fear, but more like terror crossed his lion's face. His breath coming out in a shutter, he looked down at his hands. He rubbed at them and wiped them on his pants as though they were covered in something terrible. "I am sorry." He said weakly, his voice barely there as he spoke beneath his breath. "I- I didn't mean." He looked up at me with an expression that reminded me of a child that was moments away from crying. "I never intended to hurt you, Miss Craft. I just don't want you to run from me. I am not a monster. I know I look like one, but I'm not, I assure you."

I rubbed my wrists, easing the pain, as I stared at him. "What are you?" I blurted.

"A man." He answered. "Or I used to be…a long time ago. I became this for reasons I cannot say. I'm afraid I am forbidden from telling you more." He lowered his hands and his head. He glared at the floor, unable to meet my eyes. "Please believe me when I say that I do not intend on eating you or your dog. I only want to help you and frankly I need the companionship."

"Are you really my cousin?" I asked, studying the bizarre sight in front of me. From the chest down, he looked entirely human, save for the fur and claws. From the neck up was head of a lion, with the exception of his eyes which were very much human when in the light.

He glanced up at me sheepishly, his eyes daring to go as far as my mouth, but no further. "No….well, not by blood…probably not even legally." He spoke mostly in a mumble now.

"What? I don't understand." I prodded him for answers.

"I will explain at a later time." He promised. "Forgive me, but in light of this disastrous first meeting, I think I will eat in my quarters." He walked quickly past me and started to climb the stairs. He stopped on the sixth step and looked back at me. "Miss Craft." He said my name with hesitation.

"Yes?" I asked, still breathing heavily.

He opened his wide mouth to say something. He got out only, "I", before shutting it again. "Never mind." He muttered absently and rushed up the remaining steps, taking two or three at a time. I watched him ascend. At the top, he went on all fours to climb the remaining stairs.

Still shaking from the shocking events, I ate only a few bites of my dinner. My only dining companions were the voiceless, eyeless, faceless servants, who watched me dine from their places along the walls. When I tried to start a conversation with them, they all merely tilted their heads curiously.

Afterwards, I dragged myself to my bedroom. Foxy was still sleeping when I arrived, unaware of the unsettling events I'd jut gone through. A part of me wanted to pack my things and run for the hills. It couldn't be healthy to live with a beast, however I knew that would be impossible. I'd sealed my fate as soon as I entered the house. Those servants would never allow me to leave. Gloomily, I dressed for bed and let down my hair. It turned out to be quite easy, considering most of it had come loose when I was running away from my guardian.

There was a soft tapping at my door. I gave a great sigh as I was not in the mood to endure more eerie stares from the creepy staff. Curiously, I watched as a piece of paper, folded in half and sealed with Mr. Thorn's rose seal was slipped under my door.

I picked it up and read it quietly to myself.

_Will you marry me?_

I stared at the words, confounded beyond belief. There was no mistaking the lopsided, squiggly handwriting. After all that had transpired, he had the nerve to ask me such a thing? Was it a joke? I found a quill and some ink in the drawer of my vanity. With a firm hand, I wrote the word, "No!", in large, bold letters at the bottom of the note. I shoved it back under the door for the servants to retrieve.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter Three: Pretty Prison

When I finally stirred the morning after the fiasco that was my first meeting with the beastly Mr. Thorn, Foxy was curled up on the pillow beside my head. She rested her head on her bushy tale, her little feet tucked up around her. She looked very much like a fox when she slept. I had heard that Pomeranians, unlike other dogs, were descended from foxes. I had little doubt of that when I admired Foxy's gorgeous fur. Petting her as I sat up in bed, I looked around at my surroundings, at the still foreign room.

My room back home had been filled to the brink with books, clothes and the toys from childhood I'd never gotten rid of or put away. My new room was as empty as the rest of the household. It would have felt stark and cold were it not for the lovely flower arrangements on the vanity. The roses with their amusing variety of color and form were a welcomed sight first thing in the morning. Beside the closest vase, I saw a rose lying on the vanity all by itself. It was canary yellow, it's petals open wide like the arms of a dear loved one. Reaching over my sleeping friend, I lifted it from its resting place. Beneath it, I found a card which simply read:

_Yellow roses are wonderful things. They have the power to make one smile no matter what dreadful thing comes along._

_Christopher Thorn._

As I pondered the letter, I smelled the rose's perfume. Instantly, my lips spread into a wide grin. I had no idea why I was smiling, only that I didn't hate the feeling. It had been a very long time since a genuine smile had appeared on my face.

At the foot of my bed, over my blankets, was a dress of the same color. It wasn't nearly as grand as the sapphire one. It was fairly simple, with little fuss, aside from the ruffles around the hem at the bottom and collar. I was very tempted to put it on. Black is such a dreadful color and the dress, like the rose, made me smile. Still, it ended up in the wardrobe with the other neglected gown Mr. Thorn had given me. I wore another of the black dresses I'd brought along with me, but decided to tuck the yellow rose in my hair so that the happy feelings it brought with it would linger all day long and give me courage to face Mr. Thorn again.

As I was dressing, a terrifying thought passed through my mind. How had the dress and flower gotten into my room? Had Mr. Thorn or one of the servants snuck inside? I wasn't sure which was worse. Mr. Thorn was frightening to be sure, but he was at least somewhat human. I had the strangest feeling that the servants were anything but.

Setting aside my uneasiness, I put a leash on Foxy and the two of us started another day of wandering. When I first came out of my room and went to the stairs, I dared a glance up the remaining flight to the third floor's landing. Why had it been forbidden? Did Mr. Thorn simply want his privacy or was he hiding something from me? What dark secret was locked away up there? I silently wondered if I was the first to come here or if I was merely the last in a string of visitors that had met a grizzly end.

The servants were gone again, as were all the decorations for the dining room. It was empty and dull again. I found a door for the kitchen and slipped inside. There I found the food, most of it laying out on display in jars and bowls. As I reached for a pear, a chill ran over my skin. My eyes shifted to my left. Foxy growled and barked as though she could scare away the chilling thing conjuring itself in the corner. It started as black and silver mist, that slowly shifted and molded itself into the shape of a man. It's face remained blank, then the black holes of the eyes appeared, then the soft smile. The features were painted onto the mask by an unseen artist.

Forgetting my breakfast and screaming in fright, I snatched up Foxy and bolted from the house and across the lawn. I ran into the gate. I pulled at it, kicked it, and bowled into it with my shoulder. All to no avail. It didn't budge. "Open! You accursed thing!" I hissed, pulling at it again with all my strength.

"It's no use. It won't open for you, nor anyone else. Not even me." I heard Mr. Thorn's voice close behind me.

I turned around slowly, breathing heavily. Mr. Thorn looked even more horrifying in the daylight. There was no denying what I'd seen now, for it stood obviously before me. I couldn't even say that he was dressed well, for he'd discarded his finery. Instead, he wore a bedraggled shirt and a dull, brown vest. His trousers were much too short, coming only to the tops of his ankles. He wore no shoes. His feet, like his hands, were large and covered with golden fur. The appendages were long and ended with curved nails. He had, at least, pulled back some of his mane, so that it didn't stick out every which way around his head. "T-the servants…what are they?" I stuttered, fear making it hard to speak. Foxy whined and fidgeted in my arms. "I-I saw one of them…form itself out of midair. They're not human!" I cried.

"They're not human." He confirmed. "They're merely the shadows of people that have died." He replied, his eyes peering through the gate at the ground beyond it with a look of yearning.

"They're ghosts!" I cried in horror.

"No, they're shadows." He repeated. "Just shadows. When a person dies, their shadow wanders the earth, searching for a new owner to imitate. Some of those shadows find themselves in the hands of people who can bind them to their will. They're not very good people, either. That is what has become of the servants."

"You know how to bind shadows to you? You know black magic?" I asked, my horror only growing. I had heard stories and rumors of people who practiced the dark arts or witchcraft. Mind you, most of these stories involved an execution.

"Not at all. The person who…lived here before me knew black magic. The shadows were their servants. After I came here, they became both my servants and my jailers. You see, I am unable to leave the mansion grounds. They and their owner won't allow it."

"You're a prisoner?" I asked, looking at the tall gate. It seemed so pretty when I first arrived, but seeing it now, this estate was just a pretty prison. The gate, with its coat of flowers, was there to keep us in, not to keep people out.

He nodded quietly. "You, however, are not. The black magician knows nothing of you. I will let you go eventually. I promise you. You asked me to be your guardian and that is what I promised. The day you turn eighteen, the gate will open and you'll be free. Until then, you must stay."

"You just said that I am not a prisoner! You can't keep me here against my will!" I yelled, fury boiling in my blood.

"Do you realize how long I've been here? How long I've lived alone with the shadows?" He asked, his quiet calmness not faltering even under my heated glare. "Nearly half my life." He answered. "You are not a prisoner, but I need you to stay. I need someone to speak to, to see and hear what I have to say. Shadows do not speak, they merely repeat what you do like a parrot imitates speech. All I am demanding is this one year with you as my companion. Nothing else. You don't have to love me or even like me. You can even hate me if you like. It doesn't matter." He shook his mighty head bitterly.

"What was that letter about last night, then?" I demanded. "Why did you ask me to marry you?"

He paused for a long moment, his eyes drifting from rose to rose on the gate. He let out a weary sigh. An ungloved hand, reached up to brush back his mane from his forehead. "I don't know why I asked. I knew you'd say no, but I felt that I should…that I must. It's been such a long time since I've seen another living soul besides the black magician. Especially not one so lovely."

He glanced at me and I tried not to blush. I wasn't used to such compliments. Yes people had always told me I was pretty, that I had inherited my mother's looks and she was a beauty like no other, but I had never paid much attention to them, nor have I ever cared if I was pretty or not. It felt very different coming from Mr. Thorn.

"I was being selfish. I think. I am happy to have you here and would like nothing more than to be able to keep you with me forever, but I won't so long as it is against your wishes. I won't keep you a moment longer than I have promised. I'm afraid you may receive many notes such as that one while you're here. My resolve tends to falter at night, when the house is quiet. Feel free to shoot me down as often as you like." His lion's lips tweaked in the corner and I realized he was trying to smirk at me.

"I will." I muttered. I let Foxy down and she tugged at the leash, eager to trot away from the big beast by my side. "Patience." I pleaded with her, my hand reaching up to make sure the yellow rose was still in place in my hair.

"I see you like my gift." Mr. Thorn said, pleased with himself. "I thought you would. Whenever I'm feeling particularly miserable, I like to cut a few of the yellow ones from the bushes and vines. It always lifts my mood."

"I do like it. Very much." I said. I bit my lip nervously. "Umm…how did your gifts get in my room?"

"I brought them." He admitted, his eyes instantly falling to the ground to watch his toes wiggle in the grass. "I don't like to use the servants more than I have to. I figured it would only take a moment. I was quick, I assure you." He paused and rubbed the back of his neck bashfully. "If you prefer, I'll send the servants next time."

"I don't suppose it matters." I shrugged. "I think I actually prefer you to those faceless things." I shuttered, remembering how at dinner the servants had stared blankly at me and tilted their heads whenever I spoke. Foxy pulled at her leash, nearly yanking me face first into the dirt. "Foxy, stop that!" I scolded her. "I'd better go, before she pulls my arm off."

"Very well." He sighed. "I'll be in the garden, should you need me. I'm usually always in the garden." He turned away and strode off, kicking at the grass and pebbles with his big feet, looking like a dejected child.

"I don't understand him at all." I sighed when he was out of sight and earshot. "One minute he says I'm not a prisoner, the next he says I can't leave. I'm not sure if I should believe a word that he's telling me. If he's a prisoner himself, can he really free me to begin with?" I groaned and plopped down on the grass beside some shrubbery that had been clipped into the shape of a horse. I took the rose from my hair and held it in my hand. With the other, I traced its yellow petals with my fingertips, admiring its beauty and softness. "What sort of mess have I gotten us into, Foxy?" I asked her. She went on, sniffing about like I hadn't said anything.

After a while of mulling around the front yard, I decided to investigate the garden around the back. With Foxy leading the way, we circled around the enormous house. The garden was breathtaking. I gasped when I first saw it, unable to believe that such a garden could exist. Rose bushes were lined in short and tall walls, building an intricate labyrinth of shrubbery boxes, each placed inside of the other, the smallest radiating from the center to the largest at the boundaries of the property. As always, the iron gate, with its blanketing of red rose vines stood guard around it all. Here and there were statues of angels and demonic looking things that reminded me of the gargoyles that decorated the old churches back in London. Oddly, the devils were always close to an angel, as if one could not go without the other.

At the very center of the garden was the largest statue. It depicted the abduction of Persephone by Hades. Hades held young Persephone by the waist as he drove his chariot, driven by monstrous steeds. Persephone's body was contorted in the agony of being ripped away from all that she loved. She flung her head and arms back, reaching for the life she'd always known and the mother that she so loved.

I had heard the ancient myth countless times growing up, but I could never fully grasp what Persephone would have felt. I did now. Like her, I had been tricked into a probable lifetime of imprisonment by a man I did not know and who, for one reason or another wanted me as a companion. Like her, I longed for what had been taken away, but for me, there was no hope at all of being returned to that life, because the person I longed for most was dead. No amount of pomegranate seeds were going to change that.

My heart began to ache and I instinctively took the rose from my hair once more, seeking its magical spell of bravery and joy. I smelled its perfume as I took in my surroundings. Around the perimeter of the maze were large trees, some oak, some flowering varieties and even a weeping willow. I noticed a bit of movement beneath one of the ancient looking oaks. Mr. Thorn, in his peasant's garb, was making his way to a row of rose bushes from a tiny shed in the far corner of the property. I edged a bit closer, my curiosity about my guardian, goading me on. I walked along behind one of the taller rows of bushes, keeping myself hidden as I watched him clip and prune the bushes. He took some of the roses and left others.

While he worked, he sang to himself in a hushed, mumbled breath. "_Rose, rose, rose red shall I ever see thee wed? Aye marry, that thou will, if thou but stay. Ah poor bird, take thy flight. Fly above the sorrows of this sad night_." As soon as the song ended, he started over. Again and Again he sang the song, all the while snipping away roses from their beds of leaves, careful not to prick himself with their deadly thorns.

Each snip of the sheers seemed to be a resolute punctuation, each time the snapping sound of the sheers came in sync with the beating of my heart. He was singing to himself, something that a lot of people do. That in itself was not that strange. However, there was a tone to his sing-song voice, a secret hidden within, that sent a chill down my spine. I heard sorrow, hatred, and more than a little desperation. It was as if he sang directly to me, though I remained hidden, warning me in his indirect way of his secret intentions. If I stayed, if I didn't fight for my freedom, I'd never have it. I'd belong to him forever.

"Will you be making a habit of lurking about my garden like a thief?" He asked, still snipping away.

My heart fell in my chest. "Y-you knew I was here?" I stuttered, creeping out of my hiding spot behind the wall of rose bushes.

"Of course." He tapped at his snout with a clawed finger. "I have a very keen nose. I could smell you a mile away, Miss Craft. You wear a lilac perfume. There are no lilacs here, only roses, grass, and a few trees. It stands out like a sore thumb. Then there's the unmistakable stench of dog." He slipped his sheers into a loop on the belt of his trousers and gathered the clipped roses into a bouquet. "Would you like these, for your room?" He asked, presenting them to me. The bouquet was made of happy colored roses: yellow, a variety of pinks, even a few that looked orange. I'd never seen those before.

"Why not?" I shrugged, taking the bright bouquet from him. I tried to keep my fear hidden, to not let him know how uneasy I felt inside. I shoved my nose into the bouquet, letting the mingling scents drown out my unrest.

"I'm…so happy that you had the courage to face me today. I was afraid that you would lock yourself away and never speak to me again, after what happened last night. I wouldn't have blamed you." He said softly. His hand clenched and unclenched at his side. Then it started to rise. As it drew closer to me, I flinched, afraid of what he might do with that curved nailed hand. I remembered the strength in those meaty hands and the pain they had inflicted the night before. When I did so, he flinched as well, as though I'd slashed at him with a dagger. For a second he looked crushed, but his features shifted and changed into an expression of somber understanding. His hand fell back down to his side, but he smiled weakly at me. It was the same smile I'd given others after my father died. It was fake. It was weak and meant nothing. It was only a façade of all-rightness that I tried to present to the world. It was a lie that said that I was okay, when in fact I was devastated.

It was all so strange. Before me, stood a frightening beast. He had sharp teeth and claws that could cut through my skin like a hot knife through butter. He had strength enough to crush me flat if he tried. He had a talented tongue, one that could weave stories that could fool anyone, even the greatest of minds. I doubted I would ever know when he lied and when he did not. Yet, he smiled at me, in his own strange way. His eyes glinted with a sad loneliness. For a moment, just a moment, I saw a man looking back at me and not the beast. And in that moment, my heart filled with pity for that man.

"I hope that you will join me for dinner tonight." He said, clearing his throat and stepping away from me. He fidgeted with the sheers on his belt in nervousness.

"I'll be there." I answered absently.

He nodded once and gave Foxy a hard look. She was barking at him and wining as she hid behind my skirt. "Please leave your dog in your room while we dine." He added, glowering at the little dog.

He may have seen the displeasure in my eyes, for he hurried away after that. He went and hid in the tiny shed until I left him be and went back indoors.

When the clock chimed for the sixth time, marking the time for dinner, I made the perilous journey to the dining room. To my relief, there was not a blank faced servant to be seen.

"You needn't worry about the shadows." Said Mr. Thorn from his place at the head of the table. He was still wearing his ragged gardening clothes, but his hands-or should I say paws- were scrubbed clean. His sleeves were rolled over his thick forearms to his elbows. "I've sent them all on various errands so that they'll be out of the way. I know they…displease you." He added. "Take a seat here, at my right hand." He pulled out the chair for me.

I took it, wearily reminding myself of the tedious rules of etiquette I'd learned over the years. "Thank you." I muttered absently. I grabbed my wine glass and took a large swallow to ease my nerves. I'd never been one to drink. Truthfully I'd never drank more than a couple of sips of the stuff before, but I now understood why some people depended on it.

"If _my_ presence displeases you, I'm sure I can find something for me to occupy myself with." He said, noticing the overzealous way I drank my wine. "I don't want you to drink yourself under the table just for courage." He rested his cheek on his knuckles, looking at me with a half smirk, his human eyes glinting with amusement.

"I'm sorry. I'm nervous." I explained, suddenly finding the stark white table cloth very interesting. I couldn't bare to look at him, afraid I'd see the sad man again and fall more and more for the beast's lie. He couldn't be kind or good, or even likable. He was a beast, a frightening and ferocious beast who I feared hid a secret agenda beneath the momentary kindness of his carefully chosen words. I had seen his true self last night, when he'd chased me and hurt me with his brute strength. I had to keep reminding myself of that. I couldn't afford to blind myself to his cruelty with the pity I felt for him. "I'm sure you can understand why…after what happened at our first dinner together." I added. I chanced a glance at the free hand lying on the table. It was mostly covered in his golden fur, but the palms were calloused and here and there scars crisscrossed over it. Some were quite deep. Those were not the hands of a man who'd spent his entire life in grandeur. They were laborer's hands.

"Again, I am sorry for that." He sighed, he straightened in his chair and his hands disappeared into his lap. His shoulders slightly hunched. " I hate that I hurt you. I panicked when you screamed and ran and I didn't keep my temper or strength in check. I've been this way for a very long time, yet I'm still not fully in control over this body. Most of the time I can still act with some humanity, but when I'm angry I really become a beast. It is no excuse, I realize. I will try to do better." Though his head remained bowed as if in deep prayer, his eyes shifted to examine me. " I had hoped that my gifts would act as sort of a peace offering, but it appears that the dresses I sent you were not to your liking. You haven't worn one of them. After you didn't wear the blue one, I figured it was too grand, so I sent a simple yellow one. This was still not to your liking?"

"Oh, no, I loved both of the dresses." I rushed to explain. "They're both beautiful and I appreciate the thought. However, I'm still in mourning over my father's death and I…I'm just not ready to wear happy colors."

He let out a deep rumble in his throat, as he lifted a goblet of wine to his mouth with his meaty clawed hand. I reasoned that he must need to drink from a solid silver goblet to keep from shattering the fragile glassware. "But you look awful in black." He muttered bemusedly.

"Awful?" I asked, feeling my face warm. "I look that bad?"

"No! Not you!" He scrambled to correct himself. "I-I only meant…" He stuttered and fumbled for words, horrified at saying the wrong thing that might upset me. "Curses, what did I mean? The color, it's…dreary." He took a long sip of the wine and set it back on the table with too much zest. Some of it sloshed out of the cup and stained the white table cloth. "It doesn't suit you. I think young girls should always wear happy colors, no matter the occasion. Black is for old widows. Besides, if you're sad wouldn't it help to wear clothes that make you feel cheerful?" He cocked his head to the side, his feline features twisting with confusion. "I'll never understand etiquette."

I laughed despite myself. "I don't understand any of it either. There's so many rules and restrictions, how can anyone possibly remember all of them, all of the time?"

"You? But you act so…poised. I'm sure you've had an etiquette teacher since you were in swaddling clothes."

"It's forced, I assure you. I did have a tutor, but I hardly listened to her." I chuckled. "I swear her lessons went through one ear and out the other. I remember going out to the garden and making mud pies not five minutes after she dismissed me."

Mr. Thorn laughed a merry laugh from deep in his belly as I continued to tell him about my many misadventures as a child and all the tribulations I put Mrs. Blackmoore through.

"When she came to work the next day I'd chopped off all my hair with the gardener's sheers. The woman fainted as soon as she laid eyes on me. I thought I'd killed her!" I said, finishing up my latest story of when Mrs. Blackmoore had scolded me for neglecting to comb my hair at night. To which I'd responded by cutting it all off.

"Well, at least it wouldn't tangle." He commented, laughing still. He was holding his side by this point, looking like he was about to roll straight out of his seat. "You're a girl after my own heart, Miss Craft." He said, wiping laughing tears from his eyes. "Odd to the point of charm." He caught himself and added a hasty, " I mean that as a compliment."

"I understand." I assured him, unable to wipe the smile from my face. I had thought that by reminiscing of my life before, I'd make the pain of my broken heart worse, but in fact it had a way of healing, mending the pieces back together. "We should probably eat now." I said, clearing my throat. "The food is getting cold."

"You're right." He said, but as I began to eat I noticed that he did not even lift his fork.

"Is there something wrong?" I asked. "Aren't you hungry?"

"With this beastly body of mine, eating is difficult. I don't want to horrify you with my poor manners."

"Mr. Thorn, I just confessed to you about my own poor manners. I don't mind if you're a little sloppy." I said, slouching in my chair and eating with both of my elbows on the table to prove my point.

"Oh, I'm more than a little sloppy." He smirked. "I tend to eat with just my face, no silverware in sight. You may not mind it, but I do. After I made a beast out of myself last night, I'd rather not risk a repeat performance."

"Suit yourself." I sighed and ate the remnants of my meal. It was very cold by the time I finished, but I left the table in good spirits. I'd made a connection with Mr. Thorn, one that gave me hope that I could actually come to like him, that we might even be friends some day.

However, when I came back to my room, I found another sealed note outside my door. It contained a message of only four words, but they again struck fear and mistrust in my heart towards the beast that kept me locked away in his pretty rose covered prison.

_Will you marry me?_


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter Four: A Remembered Kindness

I didn't sleep at all the night I received my second proposal letter from my guardian, Christopher Thorn.

I paced my bedroom, worrying, wondering. Why was it that he wished to marry me? Was it simply the desperate act of a man who'd been imprisoned alone for most of his life, like he claims, or were there more greedy reasons?

My father was one of the most wealthy merchants in all of London before he died. I stood to inherit a great amount of money. If Mr. Thorn were to become my husband, he'd be able to take part in my inheritance, which included all of my father's worldly possessions as well as the house and land.

I remembered seeing Mr. Thorn's hands, how scarred and calloused they were. He had obviously not grown up wealthy. The grand house he lived in and everything it contained seemed to belong to his jailer, this black magician he had mentioned. Judging by his hands, I guessed that Mr. Thorn had actually grown up poor and, for one reason or another, had been brought here by the sorcerer. The idea of obtaining such a large amount of money would be tempting for any poor man and since he and I were not of any blood relation, according to him, he and I could technically marry if we chose to.

"I can't believe him." I seethed, glaring angrily at the note in my hands, the paper crumpled from my fisting hands. "He's trying to use me to get to my father's money. I just know it." Foxy lay dozing at the foot of my bed, oblivious to my ranting. "I can't believe I thought he was nice. He's just a big, fat liar." I grumbled bitterly, my stomach twisting in the agony of feeling betrayed. I drooped down to the floor like a wilting flower. "He probably thinks I'm naïve and stupid, that a few honeyed words and some gifts will win me over." I groaned and rested my head against my knees. "He was right. I was falling for it, hook line and sinker. What a fool I've been."

The sound of the door knob turning, startled me. I jolted where I sat on the floor. My head shot up and I stared towards the door as it slowly opened. One of the faceless servants wandered into my room. The door had not opened wide enough, so one of his shoulders simply passed through the door itself. I watched the shadow servant go past me. He wasn't bothering to appear human. He had no legs. Instead his body simply faded into a fine grey at the floor. The servant set to his work silently. He sat a large box, wrapped in yellow ribbon on the foot of the bed beside Foxy. The action didn't even stir her. He then laid a teacup shaped rose of a strange blue shade on the vanity where the yellow rose had been laid the night before.

Normally, my blood would have chilled at the mere sight of one of the servants, but tonight it ran boiling hot in my veins. I shot up with a determined scowl on my face. "Before you go, I have something for your master, Mr. Thorn." I huffed. The shadow stared blankly at me in response, but stood and waited for me to scrawl a heated response on the bottom of the proposal letter. I handed it to the shadow as I hissed between gnashing teeth. "I will not, nor will I ever be that beast's wife."

Without a word, the shadow vanished before me, still clutching the crumbled note in his hand.

A full week passed by after that. I didn't see Mr. Thorn at all, not that I looked for him. I dared not venture into the grand garden for fear of crossing his path. He had said that I could find him there if I looked. Somehow I had little doubt of that. Dinner was spent alone. He never showed. I had to deal with the quiet stares of the servants while I ate. The flowers in my room began to wilt, save for the original flower he'd sent me, the crimson rose that had sort of led me there in the first place. It seemed to hold an unnatural vitality. Its petals were still tightly coiled, just as they'd always been. Though I never saw him, I still received gifts. I never opened the box the servant had brought me the night I'd sent my very firm reply. It sat rejected in a far corner of my room. He never bothered to send another large gift, but a single rose would still appear on the vanity every morning, each time in a different shape, shade, or color. The proposal letters never stopped coming either. Every night, after returning from dinner there'd be another outside my door and each time I sent a rejection back.

Finally, I could take no more, and decided to seek him out so that I could make it very clear that I wasn't ever going to say yes, no matter how many times he asked.

"I can't believe I'm doing this." I growled beneath my breath. I kissed Foxy good bye and tucked a now wilted yellow rose in my hair, before I left me room. I strode out of the house and around to the garden with a wide, meaningful gate, my arms swinging at my sides. "Mr. Thorn!" I shouted, catching him in my sights. He was busily digging a hole so he could plant yet another rose bush near the back of the property. He was again dressed shabbily, dirt and mud splattering his shirt and too short trousers.

"Miss Craft?" He replied with surprise in his voice, as he continued to work. " I didn't expect you to ever venture from the house again, after that nasty message I received." I drew slowly closer to him. He was frantically digging, even though the hole was plenty deep enough already. He was trying desperately not to look at me and I could see that his hands were shaking, though he tried to hide it by keeping them busy. "I'm a beast, am I?" He asked. I expected him to be angry, but I heard only sadness and pain when he spoke, his low voice so soft that I could barely hear it.

I scolded myself as the familiar feeling of pity arose in me again. I steeled my heart, reminding it of why I'd come. "If you received my "nasty" message, then why on God's green earth am I still receiving proposal letters?"

He didn't say anything, but he picked up the pace of his digging.

I grabbed the handle of the shovel and stilled it. Hesitantly, his silver eyes shifted to me. When I looked into them, I immediately felt ashamed of myself, as if I'd purposefully set out to crush a child's hopes. For looking back at me, was that heartbroken child.

I sighed softly, feeling the anger slip away with my breath. "I'm sorry." I heard myself say before I could catch it. "I shouldn't have said it like that. It's just…I don't understand your motives for wanting to marry me. We barely know each other and you're…"

"A beast." He added, his eyes cutting into me.

"That's not what I was going to say." I said, trying my best to somehow erase the hurt feelings I saw in him.

He pulled away from me and started to trudge back, towards the shed. "I know I'm a beast. I know I will never be worthy of you. Even if I were completely human again, I still wouldn't be. I'm not worthy to breathe the same air as you do." He said in bitterness. "You may live out the year in peace. I'll…live in the shed…like a good beast."

"Christopher!" I called him, grabbing his thick forearm to keep him there in front of me.

He stopped and his body went still. "Y-you called me, Christopher." He said in a soft, almost childish voice. His head slowly turned. His eyes were wide in surprise. "No one's called me by my first name in…forever."

"Should I not have?" I asked timidly.

He shook his head slowly as he gawked at me. His eyes glistened softly in the mid morning sunshine.

"Listen, please, I'm very sorry. I see now how hurtful my words were. I just want to know why you keep asking me to marry you no matter how many times I say no. It frightens me."

"It was not my intention to frighten you. Not at all. I only ask, because I want to. I…am very lonely here. I have the shadows and the roses, but none of them speak, even though I sometimes pretend that they do. I like to talk to you. I like you. Just in the few days that you've been here, the house has woken up, I think. It doesn't feel so empty and I feel…sort of happy. I can't remember the last time I was. I don't want you to leave. I thought that if I was to be your husband, then even if I did someday leave, you'd come with me and if I didn't, then I wouldn't be alone here…anymore."

Mr. Thorn was a very odd creature, one that I feared I'd never fully understand. He was a beast on the outside, but his soul seemed to be as innocent as a child's.

He tilted his head to the side and asked, "Why do my proposals frighten you? Is it simply because of my looks?"

"I was afraid that you might want to marry me for my family's money." I explained.

At this, his brows narrowed over his eyes, which instantly darkened. "Believe me, I don't care if I ever touch a dime of Craft money. I've had enough of their _charity_ to last me a lifetime."

"You don't like the Crafts?" I asked, perplexed by his words.

"They're my least favorite people, I'll put it that way." He muttered, crossing his thick arms over his barrel chest and glaring down at the grass.

"But…I'm a Craft."

"You…are very different from the Crafts I am familiar with." He said. "At least, I think you are. You remind me of your father. He was always nice to me. He was the only one out of the lot that knew _how_ to be kind. He was the only one who ever treated me like anything other than a beast. And this was before I was changed."

"You knew my father?" I asked, surprised. "He never told me of you."

"I never thought he would speak of me. Servants…slaves such as I, are unimportant things that are quickly forgotten once we are no long of use to our masters."

My eyes widened in shock. "You were a slave?"

"A slave of some kind, yes." He mumbled with a shrug. He sighed deeply and I could hear the air filling his wide nostrils and escaping his slightly open mouth. "Do you remember on your first night here, I told you that I wasn't really your cousin by blood or even legally?"

Dumbfounded to the point of no words, I just nodded in reply.

"Your great uncle, Lionel Craft bribed a worker in the orphanage I grew up in to allow him to take a few of the orphans home with him. There were three of us that time, he periodically brought home more. He put us all to work in his cotton mill. When I got too big to do the delicate work he needed me for, he put me to work in his house for a time, tending to the garden and doing whatever else he needed of me. It was there that I met your father. He had come for a visit, as he so often did in the summer, shortly before he broke his ties with the family. I remember he gave me some butterscotch candies and told me to get out of there as soon as I could. I wish I had taken his advice sooner. It would have saved me a lot of grief."

"Is that why you decided to take me in? My father was kind to you?"

Christopher nodded his oversized head, peering with softened eyes at the wilted yellow rose in my hair. "I haven't seen much kindness in my life, so when I do I hold on to it and remember it always. All he did was offer a forgotten child some candy and some advice, but it meant the world to me. I've always felt like I owed him something, something I feared I'd never be able to return to him. Making sure you don't go without, is my way of repaying that kindness. The kindness he didn't have to give."

"I'm sorry for what my family did to you." I said, my voice soft and light. "I've never been more grateful that I don't know them. And I'm sorry, again, for what I said. I won't question you anymore about the proposal letters. Send them if you like, just please understand that my answer may not ever be the one you wish to hear."

"I understand that." He said as he bent to set the rose bush into its hole. He pushed the disheveled dirt over its roots and packed it down. His furry hands were covered in rich, dark soil. "I am not a prince in any shape or form. I am not rich and I am not handsome. I doubt I would be even if I were human. I don't expect you to ever say yes, but I will keep sending the proposals. For as long as I do, there's hope that you might, one day, say yes. As long as there is hope, I am content."

He smirked softly at me, his hands continuing to work.

"Do as you like." I said, shaking my head at him. There was no use in arguing about it. After all, without him I'd have no one but Foxy and the frightening servants for company. In the week that he'd been abscent, I'd had a taste of what he'd been enduring for years. I hated every moment of it and hating him took too much energy. So, I shoved my suspicions into a distant corner of my mind and ignored it. With a smile stretching my lips, I took up the shovel from the ground. "Do you need a hand?"

Christopher and I spent the rest of the day planting more rose bushes and ripping up weeds that had somehow slipped through the gate and rose bush maze. He worked diligently, singing folk songs to himself. Eventually, I found myself singing them as well. I've never seen a man work so hard in my life. The man never stopped. One moment, he was trimming hedges, the next he was cleaning bird droppings off the statues or making more rose bouquets for my room. He did it all quickly, without complaint, or even a break. I, on the other hand, was sluggish and not at all useful. Most of my day was spent doing the weeding, which took hours. Christopher would have had it all done in an hour or so.

When it came close to dinner time, we finally stopped and retreated inside to clean up. I've never been more happy to have a bath in my whole life. I was covered from head to toe in soil and there was grass stuck in my hair. When I returned to my room, I was welcomed by fresh bouquets in the vases by my bed. The original condolence rose was displayed in a slender vase all its own, the glass made of jade colored glass. Foxy was sitting on her very own cushion on the floor, gnawing at a bone that was bigger than she was. Seeing the unexpected kindness shown to my little dog instantly brought a smile to my face and I was filled with enthusiasm for seeing Christopher again so that I could thank him.

I skipped to the wardrobe, humming one of Christopher's favorite songs, absently. I looked for something to wear. I had only brought my two best black dresses with me. One I had pretty much destroyed gardening. I started to reach for the canary yellow dress, but remembered the present I hadn't opened. With Foxy watching me with an amused grin on her face, I retrieved the rejected gift from the corner and opened it up.

Inside was a fine dress with pearl buttons all down the back. The dress was made of soft, black silk with subtle black lace woven into the fabric all along the sleeves. On it, lay a small note. As I read it, tears of shame pricked at my eyes.

_I still think you're too young to wear black, but I want to see you happy. I hope that it will make you smile as you have made me tonight._

The note trembled in my hand as I ran the other's fingers over the glossy fabric of the dress. My eyes were wide, as I was suddenly incapable of blinking. My mouth too, stopped working. My anger was back again, burning up my insides, but it was no longer directed at my guardian. No, it was back where it belonged…on me. I felt a tear roll down my face and it splashed against the note. It smeared the ink, making an ugly black stain on the crisp, white note. Much like how my cruelty towards Christopher had marred my own soul, leaving ugliness in its wake.


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter Five: Angelic Devil

I descended the stairs slowly, listening to the echo of my shoes' hard soles on the wooden steps. My heart pounded loudly, nearly drowning out all other noise. At the base of the staircase, a masked servant bowed and extended a helpful hand to aid my balance. "Thank you." I mouthed to him wordlessly.

Taking a deep, ragged breath, I rounded the corner to the dining room. There, Christopher stood, peering out of a window, his clawed hands clutching at new crimson drapes. His eyes shifted wildly, as though he were searching for something. His feline lips were pulled into a rigid scowl. His brow was furrowed over his searching eyes. His expression was one of dread.

"Christopher?" I called to him softly.

He turned his head and the look of dread vanished, his whole face lighting up to see me in the dress he'd given me, though his brows remained furrowed with worry. "You're wearing my last gift. I didn't think you opened it."

"I didn't." I replied solemnly. "Until just now." I peeked at him through lowered eyes. My hands were clutched tightly at my waist. "Christopher…I…am so sorry. I jumped to conclusions and I should not have. I judged you far too quickly. You say that I'm kind, but I've been anything but recently."

His lips tweaked in one corner, into what had quickly become his trademark smirk. "The fact that you are aware of your rashness and thought to apologize is evidence of your good heart, Miss Craft." He spoke in his soft and low voice. "I don't blame you for rushing to judge me. People tend to judge by appearances alone. If I look like a beast, then I must be one…" He reached up and touched his heart. "On the inside as well."

"But you're not."

"Hopefully." He shrugged his broad shoulders. "At least I try not to be. I know that I scared you when you first arrived. It's okay if it takes you a while to trust me. All I ask is that you give me a chance to show you how little my heart…my soul has changed. I am a beast, but inside I'm still a scared little boy." He chuckled lightly. "A scared little boy who doesn't know how to act in front of pretty girls." His chuckle grew into that deep bellied laughter of his.

Despite the heaviness in my heart, I laughed too and my troubles were lifted instantaneously. His laughter was infectious. "Thank you, Christopher. Truly, thank you. For everything, especially for making Foxy feel at home. She loves her gifts." I said, as the laughter subsided.

"Foxy is very welcome." Christopher grinned. "I've never been too fond of dogs, not since your uncle's Doberman bit my foot when I was a child, the mean devil."

"You were bitten by my uncle's dog?" I smiled back at him, trying to imagine Christopher as a less hairy child, running from a dog. He looked so powerful now, it was hard to imagine him being scared of anything, at least anything other than me.

"Sure did, he bit clear through my boot!" He laughed, then his face softened. "I don't like dogs, but I see how much you love Foxy. If she brings you a little happiness, then that's all that matters."

"Thank you, Christopher." I replied, quietly smiling.

"You're very welcome, Isabel." He stiffened and clasped a hand over his mouth as soon as my name passed his lips. "Excuse me. Miss Craft." He corrected.

"Christopher, it's really-" I was interrupted as a servant rushed into the room, its form fading to gray and silver as it zoomed past me.

It handed Christopher a note and as Christopher read it, his brows furrowed deeply. His hands began to tremble. He looked at me, looking very shaken and frightened. "I…I'm sorry, Miss Craft, but I'm afraid we can't dine together tonight. It seems I have an unexpected visitor. Please, come with me. Hurry." He took me by the hand and hurried me up the stairs.

"Who is it? Why do you look frightened?" I asked, looking at him and back over my shoulder for any sign of the visitor.

"The black magician." He said, his voice so quiet, I almost didn't hear it. "I can't let her find you here." We stopped outside my door and he opened it for me. "Please, stay inside your room tonight, I'll send a servant up as soon as I can to bring you your dinner."

"Why can't I meet her?" I asked, growing more worried the more I studied his appearance. He looked like a man who was headed to the chopping block, all sweaty, pupils dilated, trembling. I could hear his breathing three feet away.

He looked at me, really looked at me. His eyes pierced through mine with an unspoken warning. "If…that woman finds you here…she'll kill you."

He closed the door. The locking mechanism made a loud sound that echoed through the room with finality. I had to stay locked away…for my own protection…maybe even for his.

"Yet another disaster." I muttered, plopping down in a chair that had mysteriously appeared by the window since I went down to dinner. Drawing the curtain to the side, just a tad, I peered out at the drive way. I could see a white carriage, drawn by stark black horses that neighed and stomped in restlessness, as if they wished to run on forever. Christopher and the shadows rushed out to greet the visitor, like obedient servants.

I watched as Christopher opened the carriage door and helped an elegantly dressed woman out of the carriage. Her dress was grand, pure white with silver embroidered vines crisscrossing over the bodice and skirt. Diamonds glittered from her pale skinned throat and hands. She wore a flamboyant hat with a plumed feather sticking out of it. I couldn't see her face at all, only a bit of curled pale hair, yet I knew that she must be beautiful, very, very beautiful. For she seemed to glow in this place, drawing all attention to her. All the gorgeous roses and delicate angel statues looked dull in her presence. The demonic statues seemed almost to gawk at her.

"She hardly seems the villainous type." I grumbled. "She looks like an angel, but she must be a devil indeed if she can make Christopher so afraid of her." I added, as Christopher led her into the house. She was speaking to him and he was holding her hand, but he kept his head bowed and his eyes averted, looking like a beaten dog.

I thought about retiring early, but couldn't sleep, not while Christopher's black magician was just down stairs. I sat up, waiting late into the night and into early morning. Finally there was a faint tapping at the door. I jumped up and flung open the door, completely forgetting that I was dressed only in a thin nightdress.

"Isabel." Christopher croaked, his voice cracking.

Realizing that I was standing there in a nightdress, I selfconsciously covered my chest with my arms, but Christopher didn't seem to have noticed. His eyes were foggy. He swayed on his feet. His mane was disheveld more than usual, as were his clothes. He handed me a dinner roll and a nearly empty bottle of vintage wine. "I brought you dinner." He said, his words slurring together.

"Christopher? Are you alright?" I asked.

He took a step forward and tumbled head first onto the floor.

Horrified, I got down on the floor as well and used all my strength to turn him over. As I did so, I noticed the red stain on his shirt and the stench of alcahol that poured out of him. "You're drunk!" I huffed.

"Isa! Isabel!" He yelled, looking around the room, wildly searching.

I bent over him and brushed a few strands of his mane away from his forehead. "I'm here. It's okay." I soothed him.

His eyes found my face and they focused on me. His clawed hands grabbed at the hand that was stroking his head and he clutched it tightly. "Marry me! Please marry me!" He pleaded incoherently, only half there, his sense clouded by the wine.

"I can't marry you." I said, looking down at the beast sadly.

"You must! You must!" He cried. One of his hands let go of mine and he touched my cheek, letting the clawed fingers run through my hair. "I'll die!"

I took his hand and put it back down on his chest. "You won't die, I promise, Christopher. You'll be just fine. Sleep now, you've had a long day."

His eyes stayed locked on mine for a long moment and he continued to ramble, insisting that he'd die if I didn't marry him and mumbled something about roses. He made a pitiful whining sound and tears rolled down both his cheeks. I held his head in my lap and gently brushed his mane until he finally slipped into sleep.

I held him that way for a long while, simply sitting there, petting him and watching him breathe. He cried in his sleep, tears constantly falling, dampening my gown beneath his head. Foxy watched us intently from her bed, tilting her head in curiosity. A few times she tried to bark at him, but I quieted her with a whispered scolding.

As the sun began to rise, two shadows appeared in my room. They didn't come through the door. They merely conjured themselves there in front of me. My fear of them was slowly beginning to wane. Oddly enough, their presence and mysterious ways were becoming familiar. "What is it?" I asked, wondering why they had come.

One of them held up a piece of paper that said, _We're here to take the master to bed. _

"I've never seen him drunk before. Does he do this often?" I asked, worried that I had a drunkard on my hands. He hadn't seemed the type.

The shadow with the note scribbled an answer with a magically appearing quill. _Only when she comes to visit. _The note read.

"Why is that?" I asked.

"_She reminds him of how hopeless his situation is. The curse that is upon him is one that is not meant to be broken. It sadens him and fills his heart with fear." _The shadow wrote.

"Then…she's the one that cursed him?"

The shadows didn't answer. They ignored me as they lifted Christopher up effortlessly and took him away.

The following morning, there was a pink rose by my bedside and a note beneath my door.

_I'm sorry about last night. Please, join me for breakfast. I have another gift for you, which I think you will like._

At the bottom the note, almost like an after thought, was yet another ill fated proposal.

_Will you marry me?_

I wrote down my answer and left it outside my room before Foxy and I walked down for breakfast.

Christopher was waiting for me by the front door. He was already dressed in his gardening attire. Under one arm, he held a folded pile of dull colored clothes, that had been clearly patched over and over again. In his other arm, he held a basket of fresh bread and cheese. "I thought we could eat in the garden today." He said with a smile. The look of dread and sadness that had been there last night was gone. He was back to his usual, charming self. I was happy for it.

I smiled happily back at him. "That sounds delightful."

Though he didn't offer, I locked arms with him and we went out to the garden together. Foxy ran and bounced ahead of us, barking at the song birds that literally dominated the grounds. They swooped over her head, squawking in annoyance.

We found a place beneath the large oak and sat down in the grass for our meal, not bothering to spread a blanket. While I nibbled on the meager breakfast, Christopher sipped at a cup of water, still too self-conscious to eat in front of me.

"I aplogize for my rudeness last night. I swear, when she comes for one of her visits, I feel like I'm about to crawl out of my own skin." He said, picking at the grass beside him.

"It's alright." I tore off a piece of my bread and tossed it to Foxy. "I was worried about you. You seemed to be terrified."

"I was." He muttered. "I've never disobeyed her. Not ever…until now that is. I'm not supposed to have anyone here with me. I was afraid that she'd find you and hurt you. I don't know what I would have done if she had."

There was a long pause. Silence settled between us like a towering, brick wall. "Do you remember coming to my room last night?" I asked at last.

He looked at me in bewilderment. "I did?"

"Yes. You were drunk out of your mind, mumbling nonsense."

A look of horror crossed his features and he looked down bashfully. I was sure that beneath his fur he was blushing a deep crimson. "I-I'm sorry. I don't usually drink that much." Hesitantly, his eyes lifted to me again. "You say I was mumbling nonsense? What exactly did I say?"

"You asked me to marry you and insisted that you'd die if I didn't." I replied, trying not to remember the shier desperation I'd seen in his eyes as I held him the night before. "Then you started talking about roses and passed out."

"Again, I'm sorry. I must have made a fool out of myself." He sighed heavily.

"Not really. I felt sorry for you, more than anything else. The shadows told me that you only drink like that when the black magician comes to visit you. They said that she depresses you."

"The shadows spoke to you?" He asked, quirking an eyebrow in surprise.

"They wrote to me." I explained. "Don't change the subject." I muttered. "I don't mean to be rude, but…who is that woman to you, Christopher. It seems like she had something to do with your curse."

He was silent as he stared out at the garden, looking at one rose bush and then another. "I can't talk very much about my curse."

"Tell me what you can." I prodded. Trying to reasure him, I reached over and laid my hand over his much larger one.

He took a deep breath and finally spoke. "Your great uncle sold me to her when I was thirteen. I lived with her for two years after that. She spoiled me and gave me everything I asked for. I thought she was an angel for all the kindness she showed me, but then she asked me for something in return that I couldn't give her. It was a price too great and one I wasn't willing to pay. When she didn't get her way, she showed me her true heart."

"She put the curse on you."

Christopher nodded sadly. "I was only fifteen when she turned me into this." He said, looking down at himself, at his fur covered hand beneath mine. "I'm nearly twenty eight now. I don't even know what I look like now, as a man. When I try to picture my real face, all I see is that fifteen year old boy."

"Is there no way to undo your curse?" I asked, my pity growing for him. What it must be like, I wondered, to not know what you really look like, to be more familiar with a beast's face than that of a man's.

He pressed his lips tight together, then with a ragged breath he murmured, "I doubt it. The black magician is crafty and designs her curses to be nearly unbreakable. I have little hope of ever being free of it." He tilted his head back and gazed up at the thick branches above us. The sunlight poured through the branches and leaves, creating a mozaic of light and shadow across his face. "All my life, I've traded one prison for another. I'll probably die, never knowing what freedom feels like."

"No you won't." I vowed, my eyes narrowing with determination. "You will be free someday, Christopher. I promise. I'll find some way to get you out of here." I swallowed back the angry tears that were rising in me. How dare she! How dare that witch treat Christopher like an animal! "You don't deserve what that witch has done to you!"

He started to laugh, but there was no joy behind it. "You really are a kind girl." He said, reaching a hesitant hand to wipe a fallen tear from my cheek. "But you shouldn't worry about such things. It's far out of your control. The only way for me to be free would be for the curse to be lifted, and that would be nearly impossible. Besides, I've accepted the fact that this is my fate. I've made peace with it." He gave me a reassuring smirk. "Really, it hasn't been so bad since you came along." He picked up the folded pile of clothes and placed them in my lap. "These are for you. They're some old clothes of mine, from before the curse. I should warn you. I was big for my age, so they're probably way too big for you, but they're better for working in the garden than a frock. I felt bad for destroying your dress yesterday."

I unfolded the shirt and held it up in the sunlight. It was tattered, torn and there were more patches than original fabric, but it was more wonderful than any other gift he'd given me, for it came truly from the heart. "They're perfect, Christopher. Thank you." I said.

"Do you want to keep helping me in the garden?" He asked. "You don't have to."

"I do!" I assured him, enthusiastically. "I enjoy helping you garden. I'm not very good at it, but I enjoy it. It gives me something to do, besides sit around on my backside all day." I laughed lightly.

He echoed it with a low chuckle. "Good." He said, hoisting himself up and dusting grass and dirt off the back of his pants. "Get dressed in your work clothes then." He smiled broadly, showing an expanse of feline and human teeth. "We have new roses to plant."


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter Six: Magic in the Soil

After I quickly dressed in Christopher's old clothes, I returned to him in the garden. I had to tie a rope around my waist to keep the trousers up. He wasn't exaggerating when he said that he was big for his age. He must not have grown at all when he became a beast. He just got hairier. It seemed strange, when I first put the male clothes on, but once I realized how light and free I was without all those useless petticoats and skirts weighing me down, I came to think I may never wear a skirt again.

I ran from the mansion door, all the way back to Christopher, simply because I could.

As I came, bounding up to him, Christopher quirked an eyebrow at me and laughed. "It must be nice to get out of those ridiculous frockes, hm?"

"Who ever invinted dresses must have been an evil person." I said, my breath heavy from my sprint across the garden. "It's not fair. How come only men get to wear pants whenever they want?" I bounced on my my feet, loving the feeling of having no restraints. Like Christopher, I'd opted to forget my shoes. The grass felt cool and soothing against my feet. I wiggled my toes in delight.

"I'm sure that one day, you will, but I think the old bitties of high society would drop dead from shock if it happenened any time soon." He got up from where he knelt, weeding a patch of ground behind one of the oak trees. "Come with me. I could use some help, carrying the new roses to their bed."

I followed him to the shed. Inside was mostly gardening and repair tools. On the floor of the shed, were six small rose bushes, their living roots incased in old seed bags. I squinted through the gloom of the dark shed, not quite believing what I was seeing. I had seen roses of every variety of color and form since I had arrived at Christopher's manscion, but I never would have dreamed that black roses were even possible.

"Black roses?" I asked aloud. I crept closer and reached out to touch a small black bud.

Christopher seized my wrist at once, stopping my hand before even a finger could graze a single petal. "Don't. These roses are cursed." He warned. "They're the black magician's specialty. If you so much as touch them with your bare hands, bad luck will follow you for the rest of your life." He took the gloves off of his own hands and gave them to me. "Here, take my gloves. I'm already cursed, so I am immune to their venomous powers."

"Christopher…why are you planting cursed roses for her? You know you're only helping her hurt others, don't you?" I asked as I slipped on the much too large gloves.

"I'm all too aware of that." He said sadly. He lifted up two of the six plants and handed me a third, warning me to hold the plant out and away from my body. "I have little choice in the matter." He said as we carried the roses to their new flower bed. "If I am to live, I must tend to her roses, all of them, even the cursed ones."

I silently went about my work. While Christopher dug the holes for the black roses to rest in, I went back and forth from the shed, carrying the black devils precariously across the garden. Once that was finished, I went to work, keeping Foxy at bay, so that the roses would not harm her. "You needn't worry about her. The spells only work on humans." Christopher reassured me as he finished planting the last of the black roses. He climbed back to his feet with a grunt. "So long as you don't touch them, they can do no harm." He handed me his shovel. "Would you please take this back to the shed?" I'm going to get some water for them."

With my hands over the top of the shovel's handle and my chin resting against it, I asked him the question that had been gnawing at my mind before he had time to get out of ear shot. "If these roses are cursed, then what about the rest of them? She put you to work caring for them all, so they must all be important."

Christopher sighed heavily. His eyes scanned the ground and the roses that surrounded us, never meeting my eyes. "They're all enchanted, in some way or another. This is how she discreetly peddles her spells without drawing unwanted attention to herself. Who would suspect a gardener of witchcraft? Most of the roses are benign. She keeps her most dangerous curses at her new home back in London, the others she has me tend to. The black ones are the only ones here that can hurt you. Most of the roses here carry blessings. The yellow roses bring courage, the bright red, love, sometimes lust, the white brings good luck and enlightenment. The dark crimson brings peace. Their magic is carried on the wind with their scent and courses through their roots, petals and stems. Magic is soaked into the very ground they're planted in, they can't help but be different from their cousins outside the gate." He bent down and took some of the soil into his hand, letting it slip through his fingers and be carried away by the breeze. "It is because of this magical earth that these roses still bloom in the heart of winter, when the ground is covered in snow and all else around them is dead."

"You sound like you almost admire her magic." I muttered unhappily. Uneasiness swelling up in my gut once more.

"The black magician is capable of just as much good as she is evil, mind you, she only uses the good spells for her own selfish gain. I don't like magic. I don't like what it can do or where it came from, but I can't deny the beauty it can produce. When I was first cursed, I thought of these roses as just a chore with which to spend my long days of solitude, but I grew to…understand them…to love them almost like family." He looked down bashfully and ran a clawed hand through his mane. "I don't admire the black magician. In fact, she's one of several people in this world that I truly hate…but I love the roses, so I tend to them happily."

We kept our hands busy, working diligently in each our own rights. I kept my back to him as I pruned a bush of white roses and he snipped red roses from their nests of dark green leaves and protective thorns behind me. I tried to keep my mind clear and focus only on what my shiers were doing. Thinking very much was a bad thing, for I almost always thought of the suspicions that still filled the gap between Christopher and I.

I liked Christopher, but I didn't like that he still held back some of the truth from me. My gut told me that he was hiding something and giving me only lies and half-truthes. Perhaps, intwined in the lies was the truth I needed to know, but it was hard to tell which was which with him. I had so many questions, questions I needed answered in order for me to fully trust him. For one, was he really being forced to grow the cursed roses for the witch or was he a willing helper? Secondly, and probably the most frightening, was whether or not he truly intended on setting me free once this year was up.

I scolded myself inwardly, shaking my head slightly to clear it of my troubling thoughts. I took a deep breath. My nose catching the scent of both the red and the white. I shouldn't jump to conclusions again. I reminded myself of how cruely I had treated Christopher before. I remembered the hurt I'd see in his face. Even with it so contorted, I knew that what I'd seen was genuine. I never wanted to cause such pain in him again. Whatever suspisions I had, I pushed into the back of my mind. I was enjoying spending time with Christopher and helping him take care of his beloved roses. It helped to keep my mind off the loss of my father, if only for a little while.

Christopher was singing again by mid day and before I knew it, I was humming along, even singing the song quietly to myself. As I did so, my troubles were completely forgotten, enraptured by the good fillings that filled me thanks to the thickening perfume of the magical roses being taken from their enriching soil.

"_Rose, rose, rose red shall I ever see thee wed?"_ I sang, much louder than before.

Christopher chuckled, but then added, _"Aye marry that thou will, if thou but stay." _He sang in his baritone voice, looking back at me with glistening silver eyes and a crooked smirk.

"_Ah poor bird, take thy flight. Fly above the sorrows of this sad night_." Christopher and the final line together, soprano and baritone commingling.

"Seems my singing has rubbed off on you." Christopher smiled brightly. He snapped his shiers closed and slipped them into one of the loops on the belt of his trousers.

"I suppose so." I laughed, hoping that I wasn't blushing as badly as I thought I was. "I'm sorry. I know my singing's terrible. I'm surprised your ears aren't bleeding."

"Nonscense." Said Christopher. He took a cherry red rose from his basket and handed it to me. "You have a lovely singing voice." He snickered at me as I sniffed at the rose's core of tightly coiled petals. "Even if it wasn't, I still would have been happy to hear it. I've spent too many long years listening to my own singing, I've almost forgotten how beautiful a girl's voice can be, with their bird-like vocal cords."

"You like to sing, I've gathered. You sing all the time while you work in the garden." I stated. He was always singing in the garden, but I had yet to hear him sing while inside the house. "Why do you only sing when you're working?" I asked, my fingers twirling the stem of the rose between them.

"Well," He began, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning slightly against a statue of a gargoyle, its dark stone body twisted into a hunched form, its mouth open wide in a snarl, and fleshy wings unfurled. "I've found that singing, helps the work get done quicker." He explained. "I'm not sure why I only sing when I'm working in the garden. I just don't feel like singing when I'm in that old mansion. Perhaps its because I have the roses and the birds and things to keep me company, while inside I'm left alone with the shadows. I'm happier out here and a sad heart has little love for singing."

"I think I know what you mean." I began, thinking back on the first few days after my father's passing. "After I heard that my father was gone, I was so sad…I didn't say a word to anyone or anything, not Foxy or even myself. I couldn't conjure up the spirit to do anything but sit and stare out the window, watching the driveway for him, hoping to see him striding up to the house, smiling like nothing was wrong." I sighed and swallowed hard, fighting back the feelings of sorrow that built up in me the moment I thought of my father's smiling face. "I still find myself hoping that he may return, but with each passing day, that becomes less and less likely. I'm slowly coming to terms with that and waking from my stupor. I think today is the first time I've sung in weeks."

"Feels good, doesn't it?" Mused Christopher. "To sing after such a long silence. You may not feel much like singing, but once you do, you feel much better."

"You're right. I do feel much better." I said and smiled graciously. Singing had a way of taking you far away from the troubles that plagued you. It had been so long since I had aloud myself this simple pleasure, that I'd almost forgotten its powers. "And thank you." I added, my voice a quiet whisper.

"You're welcome, Miss Craft." He answered, looking at me with thoughtful eyes as he took up his shiers once more.

I wore my new black dress again for dinner, since it hadn't gotten much use the night before. Christopher and I sat down eagerly to enjoy our meal. All the work we'd done in the garden had left us famished. I started eating right away, but Christopher again chose to watch me enjoying my feast while he sipped at a glass of wine.

"Eat, Christopher. I know you must be starving. We worked straight through lunch." I encouraged him. I was a little surprised and put off by the commanding tone of my voice, but he didn't seem to mind it much. In fact, he found it amusing.

He grinned at me and laughed. "Yes, my queen." He bowed his head in concedence. "I'll eat, but I warn you now, it isn't a pretty sight."

"I promise you, I won't mind in the slightest. I'm tired of having you staring at me while I stuff myself like a pig." I said, taking another large bite of the smoked ham. "I swear, you're almost as bad as the shadows."

He picked up a large piece of ham from his plate and tried to take a small bite from it. However, it seemed that his teeth were giving him trouble. Since they were a mix of human and feline teeth, he couldn't take a bite without ripping at the meat like the carnivorous beast he resembled so much. When he was able to get the last of the meat down, he noticed that I was gawking and instantly his rounded lion's ears flattened against his skull. "I-I tried to warn you." He stuttered sheepishly and deflated in his chair.

"You really weren't exaggerating." I muttered in amazement. Suddenly, I broke into a fit of laughter. I didn't want to make Christopher angry, but try as I may, I couldn't stop.

Offended and humiliated, Christopher got up from the table. "I've made a beast out of myself again." He grumbled.

"No, no, don't." I pleaded, reaching over the table and grabbing the sleeve of his hunter's green suade jacket. "I'm sorry." I swallowed the last of the giggles. "I shouldn't have laughed, it's just that I never thought it was quite so bad. Sit and finish you're meal."

"I'll disgust you." He huffed, miserably.

"No you won't." I assured him. "The only thing you risk is making me die of laughter." I smirked devilishly at him. "I don't mind it at all. I tend to eat sweets like that when no one's around."

He smiled slighty at that and his ears un-flattened from his head. "Very well. Prepare to be traumatized." He said, half-jokingly, as he returned to his seat and tore into the rest of his meal with his jumble of teeth.

"See, that wasn't so bad." I said, as we finished up our dinner.

"For you, perhaps." He sighed, glaring glumly at the scraps still left on his plate. "My eating like a monster may not bother you, but it bothers me. I'm embarrassed to eat when it's only _me_."

"You worry over the silliest of things." I said, leaning forward in my chair to prop up my chin. "Do you realize that? You fret over whether the roses have enough water when you should be worrying about what the black magician is using them for. And you get embarrassed about how you eat like a beast when I know good and well that the only really beastly thing about you is your looks."

"That isn't how you felt just a few days ago." He replied, his lips curving slightly.

"Remember when I said that it is taking me a very long time to accept that my father is dead? Getting to know you has been much the same way. I'm learning your good and your bad traits little by little. When I first came here, I really didn't like you at all, but that is changing quickly. I think of you as more of a friend now."

"Really?" He grinned, his face lighting up. "I'm your friend?"

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Mr. Thorn. You're not quite there, but you're on your way. There's still much about you I have yet to figure out. I haven't made up my mind about you yet, but I do trust you more than I did."

His smile weakened slightly, but there was a brightness in his eyes. Joy twinkled there in their silver pools. "It's a start." He said. As he rose from the dining table, he offered me his arm. "May I escort my soon-to-be friend to her room?" He asked charmingly.

"You certainly may." I answered. I looped my arm through his and we walked together back to my room on the second floor.

We stopped outside the door. Christopher unlocked his arm from mine and once again became a shy little boy. "Uh…there's something I've been meaning to ask you…feel free to say no." He stuttered, looking at the floor and rubbing his hands together.

"You've already asked me to marry you every night since I've been here. There's no need to be shy about this. You're worrying over nothing again." I shook my head at him, wondering what in the world he could ask me that was more terrifying for him than a proposal. Then again, he'd never proposed himself. It was always written in a note, much like in the one that was awaiting just at my toes that very moment.

"This, by far is more troublesome than that." He said, worry obvious in his tone. "I know what the answer to my proposals will be, but with this I have no idea."

"You won't know until you ask." I said softly, reaching up and placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. It saddened me that he wrote the proposal letters, knowing that I'd refuse him, but it left we wondering why.

He took a deep breath and blurted out his question. "May I call you by your first name?"

I couldn't help but let out a little laugh. "That's what you were worrying so about? Of course you may call me Isabel."

He smiled broadly, his eyes twinkling merrily. "No one's ever let me before."

"No one?"

"Not a soul." He shook his head, making his thick mane dance. "I was told it was disrespectful not to call others by some sort of title. For me, being able to say someone's first name is…very important. It means that you have deemed me your equal…" His blue eyes lingered on my own. "Something I never thought I was worthy of being."

My face dropped, sadness and pity ripping through me, strait to the core of my being. "Christopher…" I breathed his name, my voice barely a whisper. "I've never thought of you as inferior in any way, shape or form. You're no one's inferior, _no one's_."

"It's hard to believe that." He said, his voice even weaker than mine. It was little more than an escape of breath. "Especially for one such as me."

"You're a great man, Christopher. Better than most. I hope that one day you _can_ believe that as much as I do." I said.

Christopher laid his hand over mine on his shoulder. His hand was so much larger than mine that it covered it completely. "You don't know how much that means to me." His eyes began to glitter, with unshed tears of happiness and relief. "In all my life, no one's ever been as kind to me as you have been. I don't think I deserve it, after how I treated you on your first night here, but hopefully, someday I will. I want to be the kind of man that deserves to be at your side, even if we can never be what I hope for."

"What do you hope for?" I asked.

He retreated from me and motioned towards the note at my feet. "I think my latest ill-fated proposal will make that painfully obvious." He smirked at me, but there was no good spirit in his eyes, only a look of disapointment as he gazed upon the note. "I'd better leave, before you laugh at me again." He bowed slightly and spun on his heel to quickly bound up the remaining flight of stairs to the mysterious third floor.

"Good, night Christopher!" I called after him. He looked back and I sent a comforting smile his way.

"Good night, Isabel." He replied softly, a small glint of happiness passing over his features as my name passed his lips. With that he bounded up the stairs and disappeared.

Opening the new proposal letter, I saw that there was more written than usual.

_Miss Craft,_

_I know that I am no prince. I'm not all that charming or smart. I've never been handsome, even before the curse. I am not rich, either and probably never will be. No, I'm not an enchanted prince or king, such as you deserve. I'm just an unfortunate gardener. No amount of potions, wishes, or true love's kisses will ever change that. Yet, I still hold on to the small glimmer of hope that one day you might come to see past all that and love this beast hair and all. If not as a husband, then at least as a friend. _

_I already know your answer, but I will ask all the same. I'll ask you every day until you either say yes or I run out of time. Persistent devil, aren't I?_

_Will you marry me?_

_-Christopher Thorn_

"Persistent devil, indeed." I muttered and felt my lips spread into a broad smile. After scrawling my answer at the bottom of the note, I left it right where I found it, sitting outside my door in a dark, lonely hallway, hoping that my answer would bring Christopher a little happiness.

_Christopher,_

_I cannot say if I can come to love you in the way you really desire. I can't predict what path my heart will choose for me, but I do want to become your friend. I want that more than anything and hope that it will someday come to pass. _

_For now, my answer is still no. _

_-Isabel Craft_


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven: The Taste of Wine and Tears

The days went by quickly. Days became weeks. Weeks bled into months. Before I knew it, over two months had passed and fall had given way to winter's deadly chill. Just as Christopher had said, the roses continued to bloom brilliantly, even while snow fell heavily over the garden and covered the ground they drew their magic from. Every morning there was a new rose by my bedside and every night there was a proposal letter outside my door. I continued to reject him, yet Christopher never failed to be in good spirits each and every morning.

"Good morning." I greeted him as I trudged out to the garden. The snow was piled thickly on the ground and dusted the roses and statues in a brilliant glitter of white.

He smiled in his own strange way and waved at me from where he was working, brushing snow off of each individual flower. "Morning, Isabel." His lips tweaked slightly in their corners, as they still so often did when he said my first name. He still hadn't gotten quite used to the privilege.

"What are you doing?" I asked, sniffling as I stood stiffly in the snow. I shivered and pulled my cloak tighter around my frame to fend off the bone freezing wind. Christopher still wore his usual gardener's uniform with the trousers that were too short and shirt that was nearly all patches. He had at least begun to wear his boots, but he wore no cloak or coat. The benefits of being covered in fur, I supposed.

"Are you alright?" He asked, concerned. "You don't look well. You're very pale."

"It is just a little cold." I assured him. "I'll be perfectly fine in a few days."

"Go back in and drink some hot tea. You don't want to make it worse. I can handle things here." He encouraged me.

"I will." I assured him, smiling warmly, although my mind was foggy from a growing temperature. "I just wanted to see how you were doing. You snuck out before I awoke. We didn't get to have breakfast together." In the recent weeks, we had begun to spend more and more time together. We met at the dining table for every meal and often shared tea in the garden on the prettiest days.

I had grown to like him more than I ever thought I would. He'd long since ceased being simply my guardian, but had become a dear friend. I had yet to tell him this, but I hoped that he knew my feelings without me having to say a word.

"I'm fine, Isabel. You needn't concern yourself with me.," said Christopher, as he continued to busy his hands with removing the snow from his precious roses' delicate petals.

"There's something worrying you, isn't there?" I asked, studying his face. He kept up a weak smile, but his eyes seemed distant, as if he were seeing a far different scene than the one before him. I had come to know that look well. He was thinking of the curse and the evil woman who placed it upon him. "When something is bothering you, you can scarcely drag yourself away from the garden. What is it?" I laid a reassuring hand over one of his much larger ones, stilling it and keeping it from its work. "You know you can tell me."

"Yes…I know." He breathed softly. He patted my hand and turned away from the rose bushes. His smile reverted into a deep scowl. "I've received word that the…witch…" He growled the word in distaste "is coming to visit me for Christmas."

"Christmas? It's nearly Christmas time already?" I gasped in shock. "In this place, it's so difficult to judge time. I hadn't realized."

"Yes." He muttered as he began to pace around with a miserable expression on his face. "It's only three days away now. Not that it really matters anymore. I had hoped to spend this Christmas peacefully with you, but of course the witch has to make an appearance so she can give me my usual gift."

"What gift is that?" I asked, feeling my stomach clench strangely. I didn't like the idea of him receiving gifts from the woman who had tortured him so.

He paused in his pacing. His hands tightened into fists at his sides as he let out a heavy sigh. Beneath the escape of breath, I could faintly hear the beginning rumbles of an unhappy growl. Sheepishly, his silver eyes slowly shifted towards me until he mustered enough courage to meet my gaze. "She turns me human…for a short time. It only lasts until midnight."

"Why would she do that?" I asked, my voice trembling slightly in amazement. Intrigue gripped me. _What does Christopher look like really, under that beastly façade?_ I wondered. _Would he be handsome? Ugly? Was his hair as gold as his mane? His eyes still the same grey-blue of silver?_ Try as I might, I couldn't imagine him being anything other than himself, as I've always known him. "Doesn't she want you to remain a beast?"

"It's a trick. She wants to show me what I've lost by not giving in to her demands. Truthfully, I could have broken my curse a long time ago, but to do so would enslave me to her will, forever. I won't bow to her again." He shrugged and ran his clawed hand through his mane. "I suppose that's my stubbornness getting the better of me." He laughed bitterly. "You must think I'm a fool for not taking her up on her offer."

"Not at all," I replied. "I admire your resolve, Christopher. I don't think I would have been able to resist such a deal."

"It's not that I don't want to accept it, it's that I know it isn't what it appears to be. As I told you once before, I don't know what I would look like now as a human. I rid the estate of all the mirrors and have never dared to even glance at my reflection in a pool of water when I'm in my human state…but I can see the human flesh that covers my hands and hear the difference in my voice. Still, it is all an illusion. Though it may appear that I am human under that temporary spell, I can still feel the fur on my skin and the sharpness of my teeth. What she offers is a lie. It isn't worth the price she asks for. Besides, if I were to give into her, my victory would be hollow. I would no longer be a beast, but I'd still be a prisoner. If this curse is ever lifted, I want to know that I am truly free of her and her magic."

I am reminded of the empty space of wall above the small table at the staircase. I always thought that it looked like something had once hung there. It must have been one of mirrors Christopher spoke of. I did think that it was odd that there were no mirrors at all in the estate, but after seeing Christopher for the first time, I figured he was disgusted by his reflection. I never dreamed that it was his human face that he feared seeing reflected back at him. A sudden wave of pity washed over me like a ship in a turbulent ocean. "Will you still deny her this year?" I asked.

His mouth clamped shut and he stared at me in silence for a long moment. "I've…thought about it more than I have in past years. I've truthfully never been tempted more than I have since you came here."

I felt my cheeks warm at his words. Certainly, I reasoned, it was the fever. "I find that hard to believe. I imagine I'd be very tempted to stay human if I were in your circumstances."

"That is why I haven't dared to look at my reflection during the…reprieves. I'm afraid the temptation would become too great for me. As long as my human face remains that of a stranger, I have no reason to desire it. At least that is what I thought…until you came along." His features softened with a slight, barely there smile. His eyes, though they glinted in the light in a very inhuman way, were more warm and gentile than any I had seen on any normal man. "I've never wanted to be human again more than I do now."

"Because I am here?" I asked, shakily. "That's the only real reason you want your curse cured? Surely you must be lying." I shook my head with an unconvinced smirk.

"Of course I've always dreamed of having a life of freedom, away from all this magical nonsense, but those dreams have always seemed like childish fantasies. I never thought they'd come to pass. I've never had a reason to hope before." He tore his eyes away from me and stared down at the ground. I imagined he was blushing beneath his golden fur. "Honestly…I didn't really care if I was ever turned human again. Humanity has never been kind to me. I just wanted to be able to leave here if I chose to and not live in constant fear that the black magician and her ilk will appear one day to take from me what they want."

"You must want to be human. You can't exactly walk around freely, looking as you do. No offense."

"I realize that. If I stayed like this and had to trade this prison for another that would be perfectly fine with me." His eyes flashed and his sharp teeth peeked from beneath his lips as he snarled. "But I do not want to die as Rosalyn's slave." A look of fright passed over his features once the words were out of his mouth. He had let information slip that he hadn't wanted to reveal.

"Rosalyn? Is that the black magician's name?" I asked, secretly pleased that I had found out a few more secrets.

"Yes." Christopher's face relaxed. He was relieved at my question for some reason, as if I hadn't fully caught on to the secret. This instantly troubled me and made a crease form between by brows. "Who is this Rosalyn? I feel that there's something about her that you're not telling me."

He frowned down at me. "Forgive me, but I will not tell you anything more. That you know her name is bad enough."

I sighed heavily and sniffled miserably. "Is it the curse thing again?"

"No." He muttered. "It's only that I made a promise to someone, a friend, years ago. I intend to keep it. Believe me when I say that, my keeping certain information from you is for your own good. The full truth would hurt you, Isabel, and I've made a promise to myself not to ever cause harm to you again in any manner." He smiled at me with a deep chuckle and laid his large, furry and clawed hands over each of my cheeks. "Don't glare at me like that." He said. "I'm only doing this because I care about you."

My heart fluttered briefly, like a little hummingbird flapping its wings rapidly against my ribs. He _cared_? The words, on their own, were not that special. Friends always care about each other, but there was something in his tone that left me wondering if there wasn't more to it. Something left unspoken, but that needed to be said. Fighting the urge to bagger him about it, I decided that he wasn't ready to reveal whatever it was, like I was not ready to say that he was in fact my friend, perhaps my best friend. He'd tell me in time.

Wrapping an arm around my shoulders, he began to shepherd me back towards the house. "Now, let's get you back inside where it's warm. You're running a fever. You shouldn't be out here."

"What about Rosalyn?" I asked, focusing on slowing down my heartbeat.

"I will deal with her." He replied solemnly. "You focus on getting well so that we can have our own Christmas celebration after she leaves."

Unfortunately, I spent the next three days in a fever induced fog. Christopher restricted me to my bedroom for my own wellbeing. Despite the ache in my chest as I breathed and the weakness in my muscles, I kept sneaking out to the garden to make sure that the magic was still doing its job and that they were still alive and blooming. Eventually, Christopher began keeping watch over me, sitting by my bedside while I slept and calming me down with kind words when I awoke from nightmares about a pitching ship, violent oceans, and my father's smiling face disappearing under the waves. He even took on the responsibility of taking Foxy out for her walks and I think the two actually became fond of each other.

We spent Christmas Eve much the same way. I was feeling somewhat better. My fever had just broken, but the weakness was still with me and all I felt like doing was sleeping. I awoke from one of my naps in the afternoon. As my eyes fluttered open, I saw Christopher standing at my window, peering out at the rose covered gate. He was dressed in a dark green jacket and golden vest. His mane was pulled back with a green ribbon that matched the velvet of the jacket.

He seemed to notice the subtle movement of my hand as it moved slightly to pet Foxy as she lay, curled against my side. He turned towards me. He smiled, though I could tell by the slight dimness of his eyes that his mind was preoccupied. That night Rosalyn would come to give him his Christmas gift, a few hours of a blissful mirage, a dream that he would abruptly wake up from at the stroke of midnight.

"It'll be over soon." I said with my crackling voice. I sounded like a very old woman, trying to comfort a crying grandchild.

"What will?"

"Rosalyn's visit, she'll be gone by tomorrow afternoon, won't she?" I asked as he returned to his chair at the head of my bed.

"If God is merciful." He muttered. He whistled at Foxy, who popped her head up and turned it sideways with curiosity. _He doesn't want to talk about Rosalyn. He hates her, everything about her. _I thought.

I decided to turn the focus away from her, for the time being. "Will you read to me?" I asked, swallowing against the burn in my throat.

"I-I'm not good at reading, Isabel. You know that." He stuttered.

I smiled at him and picked up the small red book that was sitting by my pillow. "You won't get any better at it if you don't practice. Besides, this is just a book of poems, nothing too difficult."

He reluctantly took the book from my trembling hand and opened it up to the passage I had marked with a pressed pink rose. He began to read it slowly, stumbling over the words and stuttering like a young school boy, just beginning his lessons with a new governess.

"The Sick Rose.

_O Rose thou art sick. _

_The invisible worm. _

_That flies in the night_

_In the howling storm:_

_Has found out thy bed _

_Of crimson joy:_

_And his dark secret love_

_Does thy life destroy."_

When he finished he looked up at me with a grimace. "This William Blake was a morbid fellow, wasn't he?"

I smirked knowingly at him. "It's actually about how he contracted Syphilis."

Christopher burst into laughter, rolling in his seat, nearly falling out of it. I giggled with him. When I first read that poem, I thought it was hauntingly beautiful, but the meaning behind the poem is not nearly as attractive as the words sound.

"Do all girls like to read poems about Syphilis?" Christopher joked, a chuckle still ringing in his voice.

"The poem is still pretty, so long as you are ignorant of its meaning. Some things are best left unknown, I suppose. It's still good for a laugh, isn't it?" My words were barely recognizable with the taint of illness.

"It sure is." He laughed. It was good to see his spirits up. They had slowly declined as the hour of Rosalyn's arrival drew nearer. Now he was smiling and his eyes were bright and aware of the here and now, his mind no longer focused on the trial that was to come.

"You did well, reading it."

"You're being too kind. I stuttered like a fool."

"So did I when I first started learning to read. It gets better the more often you do it, just like everything else. You weren't a professional gardener when you were fist given the task, were you?"

"No." He replied, smirking as he thought of a memory. "When I first came here, the roses were wild. They were climbing over everything, threatening to swallow up the house in a cage of thorns. I spent weeks, cutting it all away from the house. By the end of it all, I was a bloody mess. My arms were mangled. I still have more than one scar on me from those days." He said and I thought about the scars I had noticed on his palms in my first few days here.

"That must have been terrible."

He looked at me and met my eyes with his own. His eyes shone like gleaming metal in the firelight that came from the little candle on my bedside table. "Not at all," he said. "I was proud of myself, for working through the pain and getting it done, when at the begging it seemed like an impossible feat."

The sound of hoof beats and creaking carriage wheels, made Christopher suddenly stiffen and fall silent. He jumped to his feet and ran to the window. "She's here." He breathed his voice low with unhappiness. "I'm sorry to leave you alone like this, but please stay up here until she leaves. I will send servants to check on you whenever I can." He said with a rush and walked quickly from the room. I listened to his footsteps until they fell to silence.

In the quiet of my room, I could hear movement from the floor above me, from Christopher's secret domain. Every now and again I'd hear Rosalyn's soft laughter and a quiver would run down my back. The sound wasn't beautiful. There was something wrong with it, though I wasn't sure what. Where was the Christmas music? Where was the smell of cinnamon and baking? Where was Christmas in any of this? It felt like just another day in this strange, magical world of witches, magic roses, and talking beasts.

"This isn't how I thought I'd be spending this Christmas." I whispered to myself. Foxy got up and moved up my bed until she lay back down on my pillow, curled up and went back to sleep. I turned onto my side and stroked her golden fur. Tears trickled from my eyes, wetting the pillow around my face. "I don't think I've ever felt lonelier." I sputtered into the pillow, thinking of my father, wishing he were there. "I miss him. I really miss him." I sobbed quietly, my voice already too hoarse to be anything more than a whisper. If he were still alive, I'd be singing songs while he played them on the piano. Afterwards we'd sit around the fire, sipping hot cider and he'd tell me a story about a beautiful girl that slept for five whole years, until her love for her fiancé helped her to break free of a jealous warlock's spell. I remembered that he used to joke that that story was all true and I would laugh and tell him how silly that sounded. Perhaps there was some truth to it, after all I was in a fairy story all my own.

It was late in the night when I felt another presence in the room with me. I figured it was one of the servants so I kept my eyes closed and tried to get back to my blissfully dreamless sleep. However, the intruder didn't immediately retreat back into the hall. Instead, it lingered. I could hear a faint, shuttering sort of breath, as if whoever it was had been sobbing for some time.

"Isabel," the being whispered softly.

I froze. I didn't recognize the voice. It was male, but it was not Christopher's rumbling baritone. It was a soft, low sound. I stayed quiet and as still as possible, trying to seem asleep. I didn't dare open my eyes. I was lying on my back and he would certainly notice. The man drew nearer and settled into Christopher's chair. I felt warm fingers on my hand. They didn't take my hand as people do when they seek comfort, but merely grazed the fingertips over the back of my hand. The hand moved to run its fingers through my hair, then it gently stroked my cheek. His touches were adoring, not lustful as I feared might be the case. I felt the man draw nearer and he leant over me. The springs of my mattress creaked against his weight. My heart began to pound in fear, as I felt the breeze of his breath touch my face. I smelled the unmistakable scent of alcohol. His lips touched mine in a chaste kiss. I tried not to flinch, to pretend to be the girl that had been trapped in an endless sleep from my father's story, even though every ounce of me was screaming to push the stranger away. I was too afraid to open my eyes, of seeing this unknown. I was afraid of what might be revealed. So my eyes remained shut and I lay there, as still as the dead as this pitiful man continued to press his lips to mine, filling my mouth with the taste of wine and tears.

He pulled away, almost hesitantly. I heard a sob escape his throat as he wiped his fingers over my lips, as if to wash away any evidence of his kiss. I felt his weight lift from my bed. Then, just as quietly as he had come, he wandered back out of my room, closing the door behind him.

The breath I had been holding burst from my lungs in a gasp. I was trembling from head to toe, pure fright eating away at my nerves. I waited a few moments, before jumping up from my bed and going to the door to peak out at the hallway.

I saw a large man walking down, towards the stair case. He sang, as he walked, the now familiar tune. His words slurred horribly with the combination of drunkenness and despair. "_Rose, rose, rose red shall I ever see thee wed? Aye marry, that thou will, if thou but stay. Ah poor bird, take thy flight. Fly above the sorrows of this sad night_." His back was to me, so I couldn't see his face. Thick blond hair fell around his broad shoulders. He was pitching from side to side, his legs unsteady under the obvious influence of too much wine. He trailed a hand along the wall for added support. I gasped loudly, feeling my heart flip and jump up into my chest. I recognized the green satin jacket that the man wore. It was Christopher Thorn.

"Christopher?" I called to him, stepping shakily into the hall. I made sure to keep my voice low so I would not call the witch's attention to me.

He stalled at the staircase, wobbling slightly where he stood. "Get back to bed." He said, in the stranger's voice.

My heart flipped again and uneasiness filled my belly. It had been him, the intruder who had stolen a kiss from me. For some reason, I felt my disturbance at the situation lighten. At least it hadn't been a prowler. "Why?" I began, confusion muddling my mind, making it hard to speak. "Why did you do that? Why kiss me?" I felt tears prick at my eyes. I felt more angry than hurt. I was angry, not because he had stolen my very first kiss, but because I could never return it. At the stroke of midnight, the human façade would melt away and he'd once again be a beast.

He shrugged his shoulders, turning his head very slightly. I could see the beginnings of a beard along his jaw. "Why does anyone kiss anyone?" He said, a deep sadness smoldering in his voice. I had thought that Christopher would enjoy the reprieve, but instead I found that he was much happier as a beast. In this human mirage, he exuded nothing but bitterness and sorrow. It echoed in his voice and in every move he made.

"Give me a straight answer." I hissed, the tears finally falling.

"Why? I've never given you one before. In fact, all I've done is lie to you." He groaned as just breathing was painful to him and leaned his head against the wall. "If you knew the truth, you would hate me. I know you will find it out soon. Forgive me for what I've done, Isabel. I only wanted to know what it was like to be kissed by you before you realize how much of a beast I really am."

"What are you talking about?" My voice sounded small in the empty hallway. "What have you lied to me about?" He stayed quiet. "Tell me, Christopher!" I yelled and quickly covered my mouth. I hoped against hope that the witch hadn't heard me.

Christopher ignored me and silently returned to the third floor, back to his mistress.

I retreated to my room and was troubled with a restless sleep. That night, there was no proposal letter at my door and when I awoke; there was not a rose by my bedside. I cried when I saw that the bedside table was bare, feeling as if my Christopher had died.

A light knock at my door, stirred me from my misery. I wiped my face with my sleeve and rushed to open it, hoping that it would be a servant with the rose and a proposal letter, so that I'd know that Christopher hadn't given in to the witch and was still him. Instead, I found Christopher himself, back in his usual beastly attire. I felt my lips try to smile, but it died midway there, as the crushed look on Christopher's face registered. "There is something I need to tell you. I can't lie to you anymore. I can no longer bare it." He said. His voice was its usual baritone but the sadness from last night still saturated it. His gaze slowly lifted to my face, but dared not meet my eyes. "I can't open that gate. Only Rosalyn can open it once it's been sealed."

"W-what do you mean?" I asked, panic rising in my throat. "What are you saying?"

"I have never intended to let you go."


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight: Blood Ties

The vase of roses from my dresser flew through the air. Christopher ducked and it crashed against the hallway wall behind him.

"You lied to me!" I hissed, picking up another vase.

Christopher held up his hands in defense, hoping I wouldn't throw the vase in my hand at his head. "Please, I can explain everything. Just…just put down the vase so we can talk."

"Why would I listen to a word you say? All you do is lie to me or give me half-truths, right?" I snarled. I threw the vase at him and it smashed onto the floor at his feet, narrowly missing his toes.

"Yes!" Christopher yelled. "I've lied to you, manipulated you, and kept secrets from you! I don't want to do that anymore! I don't!" He opened his arms up, giving me a clear shot at his chest. "I want to make this right, if you will only let me!"

I lowered my arms slowly, my whole body shuttering uncontrollably. I crumpled onto my floor in a pitiful heap. Tears poured down my face and I sniffled like a small child, unable to control it and the pain that was tearing into my heart. I had trusted him. I had thought that he was my friend, yet he had been lying to me this whole time, telling me only what he thought I wanted to hear. And now that I knew the truth, I'd be damned if I wasn't tempted to believe in him once more. Even if he had betrayed me, I cared too much for him to simply turn my back on him now.

Christopher knelt beside me and I felt his warm hand on my back. "Please, please forgive me. I will find a way to free you, whatever it takes."

"No more lies." I growled, wiping my face with the sleeve of my nightdress. "No more secrets. Promise me."

"I promise, no more lies, but there are still some things that I can never speak about." He said and I glowered unhappily at him. "Those things only surround the curse. Other than that, I will be as an open book to you."

He helped me to my feet and, holding my hand in one big paw-like hand, he led me out into the hallway. "First thing's first. Follow me and I will show you the third floor, the domain of all of the witch's secrets." We ascended the staircase hesitantly. He moved slowly, as if he had never been there himself while I trailed behind still trying not to cry. At the top of the staircase were two doors, opposite each other. One door was open. Through it, I could see a simple beast sized bed with a trunk for clothes at the foot. There was little else in the room besides a lonely vase of crimson roses on top of the trunk. The other door was closed to us. Christopher walked towards it and opened it, revealing a large room, filled with tall book cases and a strange sort of shrine of half melted red candles before an old silver mirror. We went inside and Christopher let me explore. The books in this library were different from any I had ever read. They were written in a foreign tongue, but judging by the illustrations and the few words I did recognize, they seemed to hold instructions for making poisons and potions. Some I feared were spell books. My chest ached at the prospect that Christopher could be more adept at magic than he let on. "Have you ever looked through these books? Perhaps the cure for your curse is in here somewhere. One you do not know about."

"I'm a simple gardener. Spells are far beyond my understanding. Only someone who has been taught in the mystic arts or someone who has a natural affinity for it could possibly even being to understand those spells. Besides, I doubt Rosalyn would be foolish enough to leave a possible cure here for me to find, whether I could understand the spell or not."

My attention left the book case and drifted to the painting that hung on the right side wall. It was obviously quite old, but whoever the artist was had done a marvelous job of rendering the people in the painting in a lifelike manner. Every detail had been included, right down to the slight wrinkles on the man's face and the graying hair at his temples. The man stared stoically back at me, looking extremely unhappy. By his side was his much younger looking wife. She was as beautiful as a sculpture of Aphrodite with pale gold curls and red lips that were stretched into a pleased expression. However, her eyes were a strangely dark black. The painter had neglected to include a reflection of light in her eyes, making them seem dead and spiritless. With the two adults were two young boys, around twelve years old. One boy with jet black hair that shone with a blue shimmer seemed to be a year or two older than the other. The raven haired boy smiled impishly out at me from the canvas, his sea blue eyes gleaming, looking like he might jump out at me and scare me just for the fun of it. The younger looked much too ordinary in this family portrait. He frowned at me, his thin lips pressed tightly together. Beneath the fringe of his shaggy brown hair peered a pair of sad eyes, the color of tree bark. I froze, staring at the younger child, unable to tear my eyes away from his. Something about the child was so familiar to me. "Christopher." I began my voice a soft croak. "Who are these people?" I asked, touching the dull boy's cheek with my fingertips, wishing that I could feel the real thing beneath my hand.

"The Crafts," He replied, taking his place beside me. He pointed to the aging man, "your great-uncle, Lionel." His finger moved towards the impish boy, "his son, Ashton." He touched the woman's face, "Rosalyn." He looked to me, with pity in his eyes as his finger moved to gesture towards the other child, "and Peter, your father." As the words left his throat, tears bubbled up in my eyes anew. Still Christopher could not be silent. He refused to stop until he had revealed every secret that he possibly could. "Their little nephew lived here under the witch's tutelage until the woman he loved was nearly taken from him forever by his own kin. Rosalyn wanted to teach him her ways, give him the power she had achieved, but when your mother's life was threatened, Peter disowned Rosalyn's gifts and fled this place, never to darken her doorway again."

"No! No! I can't! I can't be kin to that witch!" I wailed, pounding my fists against the painting, hoping that if I tore it to pieces it would make Christopher's words less true, but somehow I knew that every word was fact.

Christopher continued speaking, an endless flow of truth spewing from his lips as if he were now incapable of keeping it contained. "You are a part of a long line of witches and warlocks, those that use dark, evil power to take what they want most. This is what your father never wanted you to know, what I swore I'd never reveal. Taking part in witchcraft will only lead you down a dark path. Once that power gets ahold of you it will never let you go. You will lose yourself to it, as Rosalyn has been lost. She used to be such a sweet girl, naive and spoiled perhaps, but sweet. Once Lionel introduced her to the dark arts she became obsessed with it. She sold her her soul and now she is a mere desperate shadow of her past self." He attempted to comfort me by taking my hands and leading me away from the portrait. "I know that you wish this not to be true. I wish it weren't, but sadly it is."

I pulled my hands away from him and crossed my arms over my chest. I felt suddenly ill again, as if I would crumble and die there on my feet. "Is there more? Is there more unspeakable truths that I must know? A long lost twin perhaps or maybe a contract with the devil?"

He began to pace, his eyes watching the floor as he usually does when he's telling me something unpleasant. "I'm afraid that there is more and you may not be far from the truth with that last statement." I made a terrible retching noise as I fought not to let my nausea overcome me. Christopher, unfortunately, went on. "I've made sure that none of the Crafts know about you or what has become of Peter. I intercepted all of Mr. Bindley's letters so that your only option would be to come here."

"You planned all of it?" I growled.

"I did what I had to, to make sure that you remained your father's daughter and not Rosalyn and Ashton's play thing as I and so many other poor souls have." I coldness ran down my spine as I thought of the servants, their silent, lifeless masks. Were they truly only shadows or something far more terrifying and sad? "Do you remember that oath I made to your father, long ago?" I nodded wordlessly. "That day, he told me that he and Beatrix had secretly married and that a child was soon to come. He asked me to help him protect you from the Crafts. That's why he made me promise to find you and keep you hidden, should something happen to him and Beatrix. But when he died, that became nearly impossible due to my own curse, which has trapped me here. He never wanted you to know of your heritage and the darkness that courses through your bloodline. Now, you must know if you are ever to free yourself from this prison." He lifted his hand and pointed towards the mirror. "Go to the mirror. Tell me what you see." He ordered.

On shaky legs, I wobbled towards it and looked blankly into it. I saw nothing, only a blank silver mirror. I stared at it in confusion. "I don't see anything. There's no reflection."

"That's because it isn't a mirror…per say. It won't reflect this world. Instead, it shows you another." Christopher wet his lips, nervously shifting on his feet. "Through it, Rosalyn communicates with the…thing that gives the Crafts their sorcery. Each Craft has a mirror similar to this one. The mirrors are very important to them. They are carefully guarded with powerful magic that will kill anyone who tries to destroy them. If you don't mind, Isabel, I would like to test a theory."

"I'm not going to try and break it." I glared at him.

He looked at me like I'd punched him in the gut. "No, I won't ask you to throw your life away like that; it's bad enough that I'm asking you to attempt magic. I just want you to say a few words to see if the mirror will respond to you. Merely say, "_Mirror, mirror on the wall_ and tell it what you wish to see. It can be anything at all. It can even show you the past or the future if you wish."

There was a long pause as I struggled with myself. If I did this, if I attempted magic, would I be welcoming the dark powers within my heritage? Would I call forth whatever dark spirit the Crafts had sold their souls to? Still, there was something that I needed to know, something that only the mirror could show me. "Mirror, mirror on the wall…how did my father die?"

The mirror sprung to life, it seemed. The surface of its silver glass lightened. It flickered like a stormy night sky, full of lightning. The flickering pulsed then settled on an ocean scene. I saw, clearly, the _Beatrix_, sailing on route to its intended destination. The sky was a clear blue and the ocean was calm. Where was the storm that had sunk the ship? I wondered. Suddenly the mirror shifted focus and the peaceful image was replaced by a turbulent one. Another ship had appeared. At its mast flew a pirate's flag, skull and crossbones over a sea of black. The pirates broadsided the _Beatrix_ and quickly boarded it before my father's crew could do much of anything. A fight broke out. I could hear the clashing of swords and the boom of guns going off. Plumes of smoke covered the ship's deck. My father scrambled through the grey haze. He held no weapon in his hands and the pirates' captain was stalking after him, a curved sword raised. Abruptly, my father stopped running. He looked at the ugly pirate with a look of wild desperation, his teeth bared in a grimace. He closed his eyes as if he were resigning himself to his fate. His mouth moved quickly as he mumbled foreign words that sounded like little more than gibberish. As if in answer, waves of shadowy mist began to writhe around his old, wrinkled hands.

"I wouldn't play with my mother's things if I were you," said a velvety voice, it echoed through the room, not giving away its origin. The mirror suddenly blinked and its glassy surface became a pool of black oil. I screamed as a gloved hand protruded from it. The hand was swiftly followed by the rest of the finely dressed man. He broke free of the mirror, like a swimmer breaking through the surface of the ocean. He stood in front of me, his elegant black suit, unmarred by the oil, his shoes shining with new polish. I stared at him in awe; if I were passing him by on the street I would have thought that he was very handsome. He held himself with great pride and elegance, like a prince or a king. His short black hair was swept away from his forehead and his beard was kept neatly trimmed; his skin was a golden olive tone. However, when I saw that his eyes were the same as the oil he'd sprung from, I was reminded of why I should fear him, despite how pleasant he appeared. They were the same dark eyes as Rosalyn's in the painting, void of any spark of life. The man grinned at me, flashing pearly white teeth. "You never know what you could awaken."

Christopher roared fiercely as he sprung towards the stranger. He placed himself between us, as if he were shielding me from some terrible monster. "Don't you dare, harm her, Ashton!" He screamed, baring his fearsome teeth. I was taken aback by the rage I saw in him. He looked more like a lion than ever. Wait…Ashton? This was the same impish boy from the painting? But…wasn't his eyes blue?

"Settle down, Thorn." Ashton said, evenly, not at all impressed by Christopher's ferocity. "I won't tell Mother about your…little pet." He chuckled as his eyes slid over to me. "So, you are Peter and Beatrix's daughter?" He inquired, toying with the cuff of his coat absently. "I'm glad to see that you inherited your looks from your mother and not that dull, drab Peter. It would have been a terrible shame if your Mother's beauty had gone to such waste."

"What do you want?" Christopher growled, his silver eyes flashing murderously at the princely visitor.

Ashton looked almost offended by his question. "I was just coming by to borrow some of Mother's books. Imagine my surprise, when I realized that the portal was already wide open. Really, Thorn, if you want to keep her hidden from my mother, you should know better than to use her mirror."

"How do you know who I am?" I asked, my voice barely audible over Chritopher's angry hissing.

"I guessed." He shrugged his broad shoulders. "The Crafts are a dwindling bloodline. Your father and I are the last males to carry the name. You obviously must have Craft blood if you were able to use the mirror. Since I have no children of my own, there's only one person whose child you could possibly be."

"My father is dead." I stated matter-of-factly. There was no use denying it any longer.

"I figured, seeing that you're here. I doubt Peter would allow you to come here willingly." Ashton said, seemingly unmoved by the news of his cousin's early demise. He walked nonchalantly to one of the bookcases and started to look for the books he'd come to borrow. "I have to say, Thorn, I'm surprised at you, bringing my pretty cousin here and hiding her under my mother's nose." He laughed as he flipped through a book that I thought might be about poisons. "You're far craftier than I gave your credit for." He closed the book and slipped it under his arm. "Are you hoping that she can break your curse?" He said, giving Christopher a knowing smile.

"No." Christopher harrumphed like a displeased cat. "I promised her father that I'd look out for her, should something happen to him."

"You're doing a poor job of it, aren't you? By toying with the mirror, you'll only raise Rosalyn's suspicions."

"I was hoping that she could use the mirror to leave the house. She wants to be free and I don't want her to end up a prisoner, as I am."

Ashton's eyes narrowed, the dark orbs flashing suddenly with a dim light. "It's a good thing that I stopped you, then. Rosalyn and I can pass through the mirrors easily because we've made a pact with the spirit that dwells within it. My cousin has made no such pact. If she were to try to pass through it, the spirit would rip her soul away from her and my mother would have one more shadow to bend to her will. You're attempt to save her, would have only sent her to an early grave."

"I-I," Christopher stuttered with a shudder. His legs trembled as if all strength had been pulled out of them. He fell to his knees and hid his face in his hands. "I didn't know. I swear, I didn't know." He moaned.

Pity washing over me, I knelt beside him and touched his shaggy hair. I brushed some of his mane out of his face and saw, heartbreakingly, that tears were rolling down his face, splashing against his scarred hands. "It's okay, Christopher." I soothed.

"No! No, it's not!" He cried, his claws digging into the flesh of his face. When I went to wipe his tears away, he jerked away from me and jumped back to his feet. "I could have killed you, Isabel!" He shouted. His face was twisted with anger and sadness. The anger was aimed, not at me, but at himself.

I stared at him, at his troubled expression. His face was wet with tears of anger and regret, his teeth bared in a pain filled grimace. Trickles of blood ran from the small cuts on his face from his claws, matting his golden fur. An overwhelming need to hold him took hold of me. It was so strange. He could have very well, sent me to my death, but I was more upset about seeing him this way, so heavy hearted, disgusted with himself. I opened my mouth to speak, to somehow soothe him. "Christopher I…"

Ashton's laughter interrupted my train of thought. It was a bad mannered sort of laugh that reminded me a villain that was pleased with the outcome of his crime. For a moment, I saw a glimpse of the imp like child he used to be. "Isn't that sweet?" He teased, "A beauty comforting her ugly beast." He tousled Christopher's mane as if he were a little boy and not a seven foot tall beast. "Stop, you're giving me a toothache." He drew closer to me and snatched up my hand. His hands were hot. They burned my skin like the flames of a dying fire. "You needn't bother yourself with him, my dear. He's only a slave."

"Christopher is _not_ a slave!" I hissed, yanking my hand free. I didn't like the feelings that Ashton's eyes seemed to stir up in me. A mere glance made my heart race with a feeling akin to desire. It was not a natural feeling, in the slightest. Somehow, I knew that he was trying to work a spell on me.

"Isn't he?" asked Ashton, an angular brow quirking upward with amusement. "He belongs to my mother, does he not?"

"She has no right to own anyone." I snapped, glaring at him.

"He is under one of her spells. It's a powerful one. One I doubt will ever be broken. As long as the spell holds, he is trapped here and he will belong to her for the rest of his life. Even in death, he'll still be hers. He'll simply become one of those faceless, nameless shadows that roam about this place, doing Rosalyn's bidding in silent agony, unable to refuse her whims."

I grit my teeth in horrified understanding as I thought of the servants. They went about their work so diligently. I never thought of how they were secretly feeling or if they could even feel at all. "They…aren't just the shadows of the dead, are they?" I asked, half knowing the truth.

"They are the shadows of the dead, for sure." Ashton smiled charmingly, while his eyes peered at me with cold cruelty. "They are the shadows of those who could not break the curses that Mother put on them. In the end, their curses killed them. The dark spirit we have allied ourselves with, ripped away their souls, leaving the shadows behind. They are shadows, but they still hold on to the identities of their owners. Imagine being trapped inside your own head. Your body goes about its daily life, while you huddle in a corner of your own mind, screaming to be heard. Yet, your body remains silent, oblivious to you. This is what those poor unfortunate souls experience now, because they were too weak to free themselves from Rosalyn's cruel grip."

I glanced at Christopher; feeling like the life was being choked out of me. _That's the fate that awaits Christopher. _My throat ached painfully. "Is this true? Are you going to die from this?"

Christopher stared down at the floor while blood ran down the bridge of his flat nose. Suddenly, his drunken ramblings from months before made some sense. He was in danger of dying…the very thought of it made fire prick at the back of my eyes. I fought back the tears, unwilling to let them go. I was tired of crying. I'd had enough for one day. "How do you break his curse?" I demanded, daring to meet Ashton's strangely hypnotic eyes. "You must know."

Ashton laughed at the serious look on my face. "You think that I'd betray my own mother by telling you?"

"Why not?" I shrugged. "It isn't _your_ curse and he _is_ just a slave, right? What does it matter if he's set free or not?"

"As a child, I was terrified of my mother. It's a fear that I have yet to outgrow. However, I suppose it won't hurt to give you a little hint. I _do_ find this all very amusing." Ashton drew even closer to me, until we were little more than a breath apart. His eyes slithered over me and I suddenly became extremely aware that I was still in my nightdress. I had forgotten all about it in the turmoil of that morning. At Christopher's agitated growl, Ashton's eyes came back up to meet mine. "The answer you seek is right before your eyes. It's been here all along. You just refuse to see it. To return Christopher to his true form, you need only open your eyes…" A fiery finger came up to touch my chest where my heart was floundering with shock, "and your heart to the truth, Isabel." My name rolled off his tongue softly like a sigh.

"I don't understand." I said, ripping my gaze away from his so that its spell would stop its work. "Are you saying that the answer is obvious? How can it be? Nothing here is easy or plain."

Ashton laughed and his eyes glinted with amusement. "Believe me, once you've figured it out, you'll wonder why on earth it took you so long." A smirk transforming his face into that of a cunning viper, the young warlock turned away to retreat back through the mirror portal. As he passed one foot through the inky face of the mirror, he stopped and looked back at Christopher and I. "One more thing. My mother carries a small blue book of spells with her. It's always on her person. It contains the simpler spells, those that she uses most often, and those that she doesn't want others to find. I believe that the spell that locks and opens the gate is inside that book. If you find yourself truly desperate, you could try to get your hands on the book." He grinned at Christopher, who was glaring at him like he was considering mauling him. "I believe that your curse is detailed in the book as well, if Isabel proves too dimwitted to figure it out on her own."

Christopher roared at him angrily, his lips pulling away from jagged teeth. For a moment, I feared he may actually attack my strange cousin.

"Why are you telling us this? I thought you were too afraid of your mother to help us with anything more than a hint?" I asked, ignoring the insult.

"Oh, I'm not telling you this to help you. I want that book, possibly even more than you do. If you do manage to steal it, do send it my way. I believe that Christopher is already familiar with my mailing address, since he's clearly been commandeering my mail."

"What good will stealing the book do? Neither Christopher nor I can understand the spells enough to work them, and frankly I'd rather not delve into sorcery. I have no interest in continuing the family legacy."

"That's a pity." Ashton sighed dramatically. "You would have made a beautiful enchantress. Unfortunately, the gate will only open for the person who casts the spell. It won't work for you if I do it. Anyway, if you will send the book to me, I will explain the spell to you. It's a simple and benign spell. I don't think you run the risk of becoming corrupted by the black arts by unlocking a gate. Though, you should know that even if that spell opens the gate for you, it will not work for Christopher. His curse has to be broken before he can leave here."

"I understand." I said softly, crossing my arms over my chest. I would be very happy when he left and he was no longer staring at me. I felt as though he could see straight through my clothing.

"Thank you for your help, Ashton." Christopher grumbled, glowering at him unhappily. "Though I'm not sure I understand why you are being so kind all of a sudden. It is a trait that you are not known for."

"Alas, women are my weakness." He cackled devilishly. "Isabel, when you are free and have grown board of your furry friend here, you should come by and see me."

Christopher's patience finally broke and he shoved Ashton- none too gently- through the mirror.

"Look at what you've done to yourself." I sighed as I cleaned up the cuts on Christopher's face. We had quickly fled the third floor after Ashton's unceremonious departure. Neither of us wanted to linger there any longer, afraid that our meddling had awoken the mirror's spirit. We were sitting at the dining table while Foxy rolled around on the floor, begging to have her belly rubbed. Pieces of cotton and a jar of soothing salve were sitting on the table by my arm. I cleaned the blood from his fur and dabbed generous amounts of salve onto the wounds, hoping to fend off infection.

"I'm sorry…for all of this. I shouldn't have kept all those things from you. I should have just told you the truth from the start. I was just…afraid that you'd hate me if you knew the truth." Christopher said quietly, wincing slightly at my ministrations.

"I know the truth now and I still don't hate you. I'm still angry, but I can't hate you, Christopher."

"Why? I wouldn't blame you if you did."

"You're my friend." I replied. "That's what friends do, isn't it? They care about each other even if they fight sometimes."

"I guess." He muttered. "I really wouldn't know."

"Neither would I. I haven't had many friends either, but that is the way I feel. You're my friend and I still care about you. I've already forgiven you."

"Good." He smiled to himself. "I really didn't know that you would die by going through the mirror, Isabel. I wouldn't have suggested using it if I knew I was putting you in danger."

"I know. Don't worry about it anymore, okay? Thankfully, Ashton came and stopped us so it worked out for the best."

"Yes…Ashton." Christopher grumbled like an angry child. "There's a face I wish I never had to see again."

"You don't like him, do you?" I chuckled at the pouty look on his face.

"He is not my favorite person, no. He's more…cunning than his mother, stronger than her as well in many aspects. He has a way of getting you to trust him, even when you know better. He uses people, like men use tools to build houses. He isn't one to be trusted."

"I got a strange feeling from him as well. I think he was trying to cast a spell on me."

"I wouldn't doubt it. Ashton has a strange talent of luring women to him. They can't seem to think clearly around him. Most likely, the only reason you didn't leave with him today was because of your Craft blood. His magic must not be able to work as well on you."

I suppressed a little shiver. So that's what it was. He was casting some sort of love spell on me, using only his eyes. No wonder I had felt so uncomfortable with him looking at me. "I don't like him, but he was being oddly helpful."

"Oddly is a kind word for it. He never does anything if it doesn't benefit him in some way. All he wants is that book. It must have a spell in it that is very important to him."

"Do you think that we should do as he says? I mean…it may hold the answers to both our problems. Don't you think it's worth the risk of trying?" I asked as I laid a bloodied piece of cotton into the pile with the other soiled pieces.

Christopher pressed his lips together thoughtfully. "I'm not sure. I don't trust Ashton. He's used his magic for far more evil than Rosalyn ever has. He's been married several times and none of his wives are currently living. It is as it sounds. He's also the one that threatened your mother's life."

"What happened?" I asked, feeling a chill settle in my chest. Ashton had frightened me, but he hadn't seemed evil. He was actually charming, in a way, more mischievous than anything else.

"He and your father were both interested in Beatrix. When she chose Peter instead of him, Ashton went into a blind rage. He cast a spell on her that made her slip into a deathlike sleep, from which no one could wake her. Ashton visited her in her constant dreams. He tried to seduce her and persuade her to choose him instead. He told her that the only way to break the curse was to agree to marry him. However, your mother loved Peter more than Ashton could possibly understand. She refused to give in. She fought against his magic, willing herself to get back to the world of the waking. Her will proved to be stronger than Ashton's magic and she broke free of the curse on her own. As soon as she was awake, Peter took her and ran."

I smiled sadly to myself, thinking of the story my father had often told me, about the beautiful girl that slept for years on end until the love she felt for her fiancé freed her from the spell of a jealous warlock. It had all been true. My father had been telling me my mother's own fairy story and I had just met the villain. "My father often told me that story. I never thought that he was speaking about himself and my mother." I sighed heavily as I blinked away the vision of my father's smile. "Perhaps we should just forget about the book, then. Nothing good can come of Ashton getting his hands on it."

"No, we will steal it."

I gawked at Christopher in shocked surprise. "Christopher, it's way too dangerous."

He smirked at me, his silver eyes glimmering in the golden light of the chandelier above us. "I promised you I'd find a way to free you, no matter what it took and I meant it. Even if my world comes crashing down, you will be free again. I refuse to be your warden any longer."

"You have more problems than I do. If your curse isn't lifted, you'll die." I said to the jar of salve. I found it too difficult to speak about his imminent demise and look him in the face at the same time.

"I have made peace with my own fate. I already know how to break my curse, but even if I told you how to do it, it wouldn't help me. My curse cannot be lifted by the use of some incantation."

"You speak as if there is no hope for you." I muttered sadly.

Christopher smiled weakly. "I have a great deal of hope, actually. It's just that I have placed my fate into another's hands. Whether I live or die is entirely up to them."

"You've left it to God?"

Christopher grinned with a light laughter. "No, but it is something far greater than I." His words hung in the air, as he stood from his chair and called a servant over. I shivered at its approach. Now knowing what they were, my fear of them had been renewed, although it was now mixed with a deep pity. The servant bowed and for a second, I swore I could almost hear a young girl's high pitched scream. "Please send word to Madame Rosalyn. I'd like to invite her to dinner on New Year's Eve." Christopher instructed.

"You're inviting her here?" I asked in surprise. "I thought you hated her visits."

Christopher smiled at me slyly. "Oh, I loathe them, but it will give us a chance to take the book."


	10. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine: A Perfect Legacy

Christopher and I sat quietly by the fire, enjoying cups of warm tea to fend off the terrible chill of the snowy Christmas night. Foxy was curled at my feet and Christopher had strewn several blankets over me, to ensure that my cold stayed gone. Warm inside and out, I was perfectly content with the quiet, even though a part of me pined for even one familiar Christmas tradition. I doubted that I would find such things here. Christopher was too busy scheming up ways for us to take Rosalyn's spell book without her noticing.

"I could slip something into her wine, I suppose. I'm sure I could find something useful for that in her study, but…being that she's well versed in the art of poison making…she may notice it." Christopher huffed once more in exasperation. One more scheme denied.

"You're thinking of poisoning her, now?" I asked, my eyebrows knitting together. "We just want to take the book, not kill her. Evil witch or not, I don't want to murder her. If we tried that, we'd be no better than she is."

"I was merely suggesting that we put her to sleep somehow, although a more permanent solution does sound enticing."

I gawked at him in horror.

"I'm joking, Isabel." He laughed softly, continuing his maddening pacing. He hadn't stopped in hours.

"It wasn't funny." I scolded him, eyeing him woefully over the rim of my cup as I took another sip of my earl grey tea, enjoying the pine-like aroma of the steam. "I'm not sure I like where this conversation is going. Please sit down; you're giving me a headache, pacing like that."

"Sorry." He said, falling heavily into the couch I was sitting on. He was so broad, he took up most of it and our shoulders were touching due to the lack of space. He made no move to give me more room. I remembered that when I first came to the house, he'd almost been terrified at the prospect of even coming near me, let alone hold my hand, afraid that he'd harm me in some way with his beast-like strength. Now he was perfectly at ease with me, as if we'd known each other since the womb. I smiled quietly at my own musings. The only other person I had ever been this comfortable with had been my father. After he died, I never thought I'd find another kindred spirit. Life had certainly proved me wrong. "I have to come up with something, but I have no idea what will work. She's always watching me like a hawk. She will notice anything that I do that is out of character." He said. I watched intently as he raked his hand through his dark gold mane, tugging at it in frustration.

"Well, you've yet to suggest a plan where I'm involved. Are you trying to do all this yourself?" I asked, setting my tea cup and saucer down with a clatter. "I'm going to help. I won't let you face this danger on your own."

Christopher tilted his head back, letting it rest against the back of the couch. His thick hair cascaded over the back. He stared up at the ceiling a moment before letting his eyelids flutter closed. "I want to face it alone. I can't allow her to discover you."

"Do you really think that she'd kill me if she found out that I was here?" I asked, remembered something that Ashton had mentioned about the Craft family dying out.

"No, she wouldn't kill you. That was another of my lies. Your Craft blood is far too valuable to her. She'd try to make you into one of them, as she did with your father and Ashton. She succeeded with her son, but not with Peter. I intend for you to follow your father's example and steer clear of the Crafts as much as possible." There was a seriousness to his voice that

"I'm more afraid of what she'd do to you if she discovered that you've been hiding me from her all this time. It's your life that would be in danger, not mine."

Christopher's eyes slowly opened and he turned his head slightly to look at me. "I've already lost my soul to her. It's only a matter of time before the curse destroys me and the last shreds of my humanity. You have not. You're completely pure of her corruption. If you were caught, it would be you who'd ultimately pay the highest price."

My eyes narrowed fiercely, anger and stubbornness filling my belly. "I'm going to help you, Christopher, whether you like it or not. If I must risk the greatest loss, then it should be my decision to risk it. Rosalyn could not corrupt my father and she will not corrupt me. No matter what she does to me or what gift she offers, I won't fall. I won't break." I smirked at the astonished look on his face. "I'm stronger than you give me credit for, my friend."

Christopher laughed in that deep bellied way that was so rare. He often laughed, but none of those usual ways was as genuine as this. I often thought that without the lion-like features, Christopher would make a great Santa Clause. "You are, aren't you?" He said with a wide grin. "Forgive me for selling you so short. I guess I cannot dissuade you. Do you have a plan?"

"I do, actually." I smiled with pride, glancing sideways at the shadow servants that were busily clearing away the leftovers of our late dinner from the dining table. "I believe that I have a way that I can attend your New Year's dinner and still evade detection."

"How is that?" He asked with amusement.

"I'll disguise myself as one of the servants. They seem perfectly solid when they're fully conjured. With the right clothing and a mask, I don't think she'd be able to tell the difference."

Christopher's head shot back up, his whole form jumping back to attention. "That could very well work." He breathed, smiling cunningly. He stood back up, thoughtlessly returning to his restless pacing. His arms flailed as he spoke excitedly. "Rosalyn's so used to the shadows that she barely notices their presence any more. If you slip in and out quickly enough, she shouldn't notice that anything's out of place. I can keep her busy while you check her bag and coat for the spell book. If we're lucky, she won't notice that it's gone."

"But she will, won't she? Once she gets home? She's bound to come back here to look for it."

"She will and I'll gladly give it back to her. So long as she doesn't know about you, she'll believe that it simply fell out. I can gain nothing from having the book, anyway. When we have it, we'll have to quickly contact Ashton, so that he can translate the spells."

"Do you have a disguise that will work?" I asked.

Christopher's smile grew, his face lighting up cheerfully. For once in his life, it seemed that he had the upper hand on his arch nemesis. "I do." He said in a singsong voice. "I have a suit and mask, nearly identical that those worn by the servants. I wear them when Rosalyn throws soirees for her occult enthusiast friends here. For these parties, she often gives me a reprieve from the curse so that I can pour drinks and not frighten everyone away. I insisted on the mask for my own comfort. The suit is far too big for you, but perhaps we can take it in enough before the party."

We heard the grandfather clock announce the midnight hour as we retreated up the stairs to Christopher's bare bedroom. Setting the small vase aside, he threw open his trunk and brought out a neatly folded black suit and a white mask, very similar to those worn by the shadows.

"Put this on." He said, slipping the coat of the suit over my shoulders. It hung on me, the sleeves reaching far past my fingertips. He laughed at the absurd amount of extra material. "I may have to rip the suit apart and start from scratch." He eyed me playfully. "This would be a lot easier if you weren't the size of a child."

I blushed violently. "Don't tease me! You're a giant!" I growled, punching him weakly in the shoulder. He made a show of rubbing the offended shoulder and hissing in mock pain.

"I'll make it work." He assured me. "It'll just take me a little longer, is all." With a small smile playing on his feline lips, he set to work folding and pinning the jacket to fit my much smaller frame.

"You know how to sew?" I asked, watching in awe as he pinned my right sleeve at the proper length.

"I do. I learned how back at the orphanage. I'm not terribly good at it now. It's difficult with these big paws of mine, but I manage. I could have the shadows do it for me, but I'm very wary of them. They answer to Rosalyn, after all."

"Did you make those dresses that you gave me?" I asked.

He paused for a long moment. "I made a couple of them, yes-at least in part. I made the yellow and black ones. The other, more ornate gowns, used to belong to Rosalyn. They were gifts from her late husband." His grey eyes turned dark silver as the firelight from the quickly melting candles started to die. "She stopped wearing them after he died."

I felt that there was more behind this statement, words he was too afraid to say. I couldn't help but pry. "How did my great-uncle die, Christopher? Did she kill him?" I asked. "Did she place a curse on her own husband as well?"

"No," he replied in a ragged sigh. His eyes lifted from his work to meet mine with a look of unspeakable dread. "Ashton did."

My breath halted in my chest, as horror chilled my blood. "His own son murdered him?"

"I don't know the details exactly. I wasn't there at the time, but the maids that used to work here, told me that Ashton pushed his father down the staircase." His voice became a timid whisper. He set his needles aside. His hands were shaking too much for him to do the delicate work. "He wasn't the first life that Ashton Craft ended…prematurely…and he was definitely not the last. As the years went by, the living servants disappeared and were replaced by the shadows. Not all of them are Rosalyn's handiwork. Ashton is far worse than his mother. Rosalyn will let you kill yourself, by giving you exactly what you think you want. Ashton will kill you with his own bare hands to obtain what _he_ wants."

"We shouldn't do this. We can't let him get the book." I shuttered, thinking of the second floor landing that was just outside my bedroom door, where a body once lay, drenching the floorboards with crimson blood. I slumped down to sit at the edge of Chirstopher's bed, ignoring the painful pricks of the needles. I imagined seeing a younger version of Ashton, standing at the top of the staircase, smiling in exultation at his own father's crumpled and broken body. I could hear his cold laughter in my head and it made me want to cry in utter fear.

"We must. It's the only way, I can set you free." With a heavy sigh, he sat next to me and lightly placed his hand on my shoulder. "Isabel, whatever Ashton has planned, he will accomplish whether he has the book or not. This will only make it a little easier for him. The most frightening thing about that man is that he doesn't really need magic to ruin lives."

"How can I be related to someone like that, someone so evil? What sort of blood is running in my veins?" I shivered and rubbed at my suddenly tired eyes.

"I'm…not so certain that he _is_ related to you," said Christopher with a little hesitation.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"When I was a child, there was a rumor amongst the servants here, that Ashton wasn't really Lionel Craft's son, that he was the product of an affair that occurred while he was in India for business for several months. The rumor rings true to me. Ashton doesn't look like Lionel or any of the Crafts. Lionel may have suspected as much. He was always a bit distant from Ashton, doting more attention on your father than to him. Ashton despised him for it and it's what led to his demise, I believe."

"If that's true…if Ashton isn't really a Craft by blood…then…where does his power come from?"

Christopher swallowed hard, as if the action had suddenly become extremely difficult. "I suspect that whatever deal that Ashton has made with the spirit within the mirror, was one of his own making." He cleared his throat and removed his hand from my shoulder. Nervously, raking his hand through his mane, he reached into a pocket on the inside of his jacket. "But enough about him, I have something for you." He pulled out a small book with a hunter's green cover. Along the spine, in swirling golden writing, was inscribed the title _A Collection of Classic Poetry and Other Imaginary Works_. He smiled at me, his mismatched teeth peeking from beneath his lips. "Merry Christmas."

I took the gift from him, unable to suppress my own grin and the light laughter that began to ring through the air of the small bedroom. For some reason, tears began to fall from my eyes. I couldn't hold them back. I was still smiling and laughing. I was happy, yet the tears still fell. "I don't have a gift for you." I said, sadly.

"I don't need a gift." He said. "Do you like it? I thought that you might find another poem about syphilis in there." He laughed at his own joke.

I laughed as I wiped at my eyes, annoyed by how easily I cried these days. "I love it, Christopher. Thank you so very much. This isn't how I imagined this Christmas would be, but I'm glad that I got to spend it with you."

"I'm glad I got to spend it with you too, Isabel."

It was getting into the early hours of morning by the time I returned to my own bedroom. The suit's adjustments were coming along, although it was nowhere near finished. Christopher really did have to destroy the thing in order to make it fit me. Carrying Foxy in my arms, I trudged along the hallway. My eyes burned from tiredness and my legs seemed to have decided to go on strike. They felt like they were turning to stone. I looked over my shoulder at the second floor landing as I opened my door, trying not to envision the blood that once stained the floor there.

I heard a crunch of paper under the toe of my shoe as I walked in. I sat Foxy down and retrieved the crumpled letter from beneath my foot. I frowned at it with a deep sigh, noting Christopher's seal; another proposal, another refusal. I sat at my vanity and read the note.

_Isabel, I wish you a merry Christmas and a happy New Year. If only all of my holidays could be like this one, spent with someone I care about. I believe I already know what your reply will be, but I will ask all the same. Will you marry me?_

_Christopher_

I dipped my quill into a well of dark ink. I set the sharp tip to the parchment. I paused, a strange hesitation stilling my hand. Ink dripped from the quill, leaving a large stain. My frown deepened. It was getting harder and harder to tell him no. Forcing out the needed word onto the paper, I walked out into hallway, and called for one of the servants. One of the Shadows peeled itself from off of the wall, where the shadow of a sconce was cast and reformed itself into the tuxedoed and maxed form of a servant. "Take this to Christopher please and if you can…let him know…that I'm sorry." The servant tilted his head as he listened, then nodded in understanding. "One more thing," I added, quickly. "Could you somehow get me a gold pocket watch, a very good one? I owe Christopher a Christmas present." The servant nodded to me once more before bowing and moving gracefully towards the staircase.

The next morning, beside my head on the pillow, gleamed the golden pocket watch. I picked up the surprisingly light watch, popping open its lid to admire the face of the clock itself. There, just on the inside of the lid, was an inscription: _To Christopher with love_. I stared at the inscription, wondering why in the world it was there. I hadn't asked the shadow to have something like that done and the words themselves didn't really work for our situation. It seemed like something a wife would have done for their husband, not a friend for a friend. The shadows were terribly bold things.

Over the next week, Christopher and I carefully prepared for the New Year's dinner party. I kept the watch carefully tucked away so that I could give it to him once the whole New Years' mess was over. The suit took a great deal of work. I helped Christopher with some of the sewing, since his hands made the more delicate threadwork more difficult.

The night before the dinner, I changed into the finished suit for a dress rehearsal. "Does it look convincing?" I asked, twirling slowly so that Christopher could see the suit on me from all angles.

"I think so. I added at little more fabric to the front of the jacket so hopefully Rosalyn won't be able to tell that you're a girl. He handed me some white gloves and let me tug those on while he retrieved the porcelain mask. He handed it to me with a scrap of black cloth.

"What's this?" I asked, taking the black cloth from the hollow of the mask.

"It's a hood to cover your hair and skin. Without it you'd still look like a living person. We'll also need to paint around your eyes with some black make up. Try not to look directly at her at the party. You don't want her to see your eyes."

"Good idea." After I tugged on the hood, I set the mask in place and Christopher tied its sash. I peered at myself in the mirror that he'd had the servants retrieve for him. I thought I looked surprisingly convincing, perhaps too convincing. I had the same narrow shape, if not the exact height. The suit had been made to fit me very well. The shoes shined with new polish. Still, my eyes lingered on the mask. It was pure white, making the features blend into each other almost to the point of making them disappear completely. Within the hollows of the eye sockets, my blue eyes seemed duller, as if wearing the disguise was drawing the very life out of me. "Take it off. I don't like seeing myself in this thing." I pleaded. Christopher did as I asked. My breath was ragged when I pulled the mask away from my face and pulled the hood off.

"Are you okay?" Christopher asked with concern.

"I'm fine. It's just…seeing myself as one of them is disturbing." I said. I couldn't imagine what it was like for him, knowing that one day he really would be one of the shadows if his curse wasn't lifted. My chest tightened painfully. I wished I knew how to save him from that horrible fate.

The appointed time for the party came more quickly than we would have liked. We had to rush to finish all the final touches, making sure that I was as convincing as possible. I had spent hours mimicking the shadows, committing to memory the subtlety of their movements and the easy grace in which they took every step. "There's something that's been troubling me." I began as Christopher finished tying the sash of the mask. We were using Christopher's room as my dressing room. The doors of both rooms on the third floor were open and from where I was standing I could see the family portrait hanging on the wall of Rosalyn's mirror room. "In the painting, Ashton seems to be about a year older than my father, but when I met him he didn't seem any older than you."

"I figured you would ask me about that someday. It's their magic. They use it to make themselves forever young. It's one of the things that was so appealing to Rosalyn in the first place. However, eternal youth is not the same as eternal life. Rosalyn is still aging, on the inside. One day, she'll die of old age, while her face remains flawless with youth."

"And Ashton?" I prodded, wondering why he only spoke of Rosalyn and not both of the Crafts.

"Ashton…" There was a faltering in his breath. "Ashton is another case entirely. He seems to have worked out a different sort of agreement with the spirit in the mirror, one with a different kind of payment. He, I truly believe, has gained immortality. I've seen him overcome too many things that would have killed anyone else, to believe otherwise. When he was a boy, he was thrown from his father's horse and trampled. He should have died then, but still he got up and brushed himself off as if it never happened. The maids told me that they were certain that the horses' hooves had crushed the boy's body, yet he walked away without a single broken bone, not a solitary scratch or bruise. Then a few years after your father and mother left, he dueled a man for the hand of his fiancé. He killed the man, but took a bullet to the heart as well. He should have bled to death, but when the maids removed his shirt to assess the wound, they found no wound, not even a mark even though there was a hole in his shirt and the front of it was stained with his blood."

"How can that be possible? Even if the spirit has granted him immense powers, no one can become immortal." I asked, my voice a breathy rasp through the mask.

"Sometimes I doubt that Ashton is even entirely human." Christopher whispered, his eyes meeting mine, full of fear.

"Gossiping about me, are we?"

Christopher and I gasped in surprise, finding Ashton suddenly standing in the doorway.

"You've disguised yourself as a shadow, how very cunning of you. I don't think I would have thought of it myself." Ashton said as he adjusted his black silk tie.

"What are you doing here?" Christopher asked, instinctively stepping between Ashton and me.

Ashton leaned his shoulder against the doorway. His lips stretched into a wide smile, his black eyes focused solely on me. "I came for the party, silly. I do have to make sure that my pawns are doing their jobs correctly, after all."

Christopher growled at him in distaste.

I could already feel Ashton's spell setting to work on me. The foreign desire to go to his side filled me. I pushed it away, putting up a mental wall to keep it at bay. "Stop doing that." I hissed.

"Stop doing what?" He asked, as if he had no idea what I was talking about.

"Stop casting that spell on me! It won't work on me so stop!"

"You recognize that it's a spell. That's very perceptive of you, my dear." He chuckled. "Very well, I'll stop, but please tell me, how do you know it won't work on you?"

I glared at him from behind the placid mask. "It won't work, because I won't allow it to."

He laughed deeply, amused by my words. "Are you sure that you won't reconsider learning the black arts? You have a great deal of potential."

"I'm not interested."

Smiling at me, he blinked his eyes slowly. When they reopened, I felt the feeling of desire leave me completely, as if it had seeped out of my very pours. For the first time, Ashton shifted his attention to Christopher. "Thorn, my wife, Elizabeth, will be arriving shortly. Make sure that there's a place setting at the table for her. I need to speak with Miss Isabel for a moment, in private."

"I'm not about to leave you alone with her." Christopher growled.

"Go, Christopher, I'll be okay." I assured him, touching his arm in reassurance.

"Don't." Christopher whispered, his face crumpling in despair. His silver eyes shifted wildly as he tried in vain to read me through the mask. "Don't make me leave you."

"Please." I whispered, squeezing his arm, pleadingly.

His breath released in a painful sounding gasp. He pulled away from me, his features falling into a deep scowl. Reluctantly, Christopher went downstairs, leaving Ashton and I by ourselves. "What is it?" I asked.

Ashton put his hands behind his back as he stepped over the threshold of Christopher's room. "I have another proposition for you." He began, a sly smirk appearing. "The spell I wanted from the spell book was one that can turn a man into a frog, but as it turns out, I won't be needing it any longer."

"Why is that?" I dared to ask.

"It seems that the man I intended the curse for has had a terrible accident involving a train." He shrugged his shoulders, slight laughter ringing in his voice. "Poor thing didn't look both ways before crossing the tracks." His eyes gleamed devilishly. "Never saw it coming."

I swallowed the bile that arose in my throat. "I'm guessing that you have something else in mind for your payment?"

"I do." He confirmed. "It is true that there are wards to protect the mirror from being destroyed. If someone tries to shatter it, it's their own life that they destroy. However, another Craft can break it without any harm coming to them. In exchange for my help, I'd like you to shatter my mother's mirror."

"Why?" I asked, my brows furrowing. "It would kill her, wouldn't it?"

"Hopefully," Ashton grinned.

"She's your mother." I took a step back from him, frightened by the wolfish look on his face. "Why would you want her dead?"

"It's quite simple really." He took another step forward. " I just do. I've wanted it for a very long time, for as long as I can remember. Rosalyn herself knows it. She's afraid of me, so she's put up a special ward designed specifically to guard the mirror from me. That's why I need you, dear cousin." He crossed the distance between us in the blink of an eye. Touching my chin with one finger, he tilted my head back, forcing me to look him directly in the eyes. "I will make it worth your while. All you have to do is shatter the mirror and I will gladly tell you the secret behind Christopher's curse. You can cure him and then the both of you will be free. All you have to do is this one, simple task and you can obtain everything that you desire. It's just that easy."

"I can't! I won't!" I refused. I tried to pull myself free of him, to get as far away from him as I possibly could. This man frightened me more than Rosalyn herself. There was something so very wrong about his eyes. They were so dark and cold. I saw no life in them, no humanity or compassion. I felt like I was looking into the face of a serpent, wrapped tightly in its coils. "I am not a murderer!" I screamed my panic rising. I couldn't move. My body was frozen where it stood.

"Like me?" He whispered, pleasure drenching his words. "Is that what you were about to say? Really Isabel, you shouldn't believe everything you hear. Thorn doesn't know what the devil he's talking about. He only told you rumors."

"I believe them!" I hissed through my gnashed teeth.

"I never laid a hand on them and there isn't a bit of evidence that says I did." He sneered. His fingertips slithered away from my chin to wrap themselves around my throat. He didn't apply any pressure, but the intent was clear.

"You don't have to actually touch someone to kill them. Your latest victim is proof of that. You don't need to touch them. You merely make things happen to them."

At this, he laughed. "True enough. I only need to breathe the word and the wheels of fate are set in motion. I call something into being and it is born. Unfortunately, not everything is as easy as that. I still have yet to obtain that which I desire the very most." He drew closer to me. His lips nearly brushed those of the porcelain mask. "My son," He breathed lowly. His laughter became bitter. "Isn't it ironic? I was born with unspeakable power. Compared to me, my mother is a fraud, and I haven't been able to create a single child. It's absolutely pitiful." His eyes gleamed with a dark red light, like blood on fire. My scream froze in my throat. "But you could change that. If you won't kill my mother, then perhaps you could agree to marry me instead. You and I both know that there is absolutely no blood shared between us." The unearthly fire in his eyes burned brighter as his fingers tightened around my neck. "There is powerful magic lying dormant in your blood, Isabel. If you were to bare me a child, he would be more powerful than even I can imagine…a perfect legacy."


	11. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten: Shattered Masks

"Release me!" I screamed, forcing the words past Ashton's tightening grip. It came out as an unearthly growl. I felt an odd pulse in my heart and a strong gust of wind conjured itself between Ashton and I. By the wind's shier force, Ashton was shoved away from me. He let out a surprised yell as he staggered back and fell into a heap on the floor.

Once he was away from me, the pulse and wind disappeared, fading away like early morning fog.

Ashton began to laugh madly, his eyes wide in amused awe. His lips peeled away from his teeth in a gruesome display. His mouth was suddenly much too wide and his teeth appeared sharper than Christopher's. "You are marvelous, Isabel…simply marvelous." He said gleefully. He climbed to his feet slowly, the eerie, echoing laughter still ringing in the air.

As he righted himself, he brushed back his disheveled hair and grinned. I stared blankly at him, frozen in horror. "What are you?" I gasped breathlessly. Everything that was human about him was suddenly stripped away. His face was twisted and deformed. His eyes were now glowing a bright red, his mouth filled with sharks' teeth and long claws ripped through the tips of his white gloves.

"I am the embodiment of our family's power." He said. He passed his hand over his face and the mask of humanity was restored. His claws retreated into whole, new gloves, his teeth blunted and his eyes dulled back to their normal black. "The power you could possess, if you would only accept your potential. The magic is already there, inside of you darling, you need only welcome it."

"Your magic is evil! It's turned you into something inhuman!" I cried, backing further away from him until the backs of my knees were pressed against Christopher's bedpost.

Ashton gave a shuttering laugh. "I was never human to begin with, Child."

A cold shutter ran down my spine at his words. I suddenly felt like I was looking at the devil himself, rather than someone of real blood and bone. Perhaps he was just that.

Ashton stepped to the side, giving me a clear path to the door. "Go ahead downstairs, finish your task, but remember what I've said. You needn't be a helpless maiden, trapped in a tower. If you really wanted to, you could set yourself free."

"The price is far too high." I said, rushing past him.

As I rounded the corner to descend the stairs, I heard Ashton's voice behind me. "That's what they all say, but they give in eventually, once their backs are to the wall. You'll be mine someday, darling, whether you realize it or not, and you'll beg for the gifts I offer."

His voice was so near, I could feel the heat of his breath at the nape of my neck and the presence of a body close to mine. I turned around , to see if he was behind me, but saw nothing but open air. However, when I looked down, I saw scorch marks in the shape of footprints burned into the wood.

I ran down the flights of stairs, catching myself at the last landing to slow down to the shadows' slow moving pace. My heart was pounding so loudly, I was practically deaf with it ringing in my ears. Entering the dining room, I suppressed a cringe. Ashton sat at the opposite end of the table as his mother. His hair and clothes were tidy and neat. His meal was already halfway eaten. If I didn't know better, I would have sworn that the Ashton I had quarreled with had been a figment of my imagination. However, the bruising I felt forming on my throat was a testament to the truth. That was far too real. If anything, the one politely chatting at the dinner table, the one with his arm around his young wife's shoulders was the illusion.

Ashton's latest wife, Elizabeth, sat at his right hand. The girl was very pretty. She was dressed in a blush pink dress of the latest fashion. Fine lace ringed the low neckline. A satin ribbon with a pearl crested broach was tied around her slender throat. Her pretty, dark brown hair was done up high on her head with ringlets curling around her angular face. She sat quietly, listening to her husband and her mother-in-law chat. Christopher walked around the table, refilling everyone's glasses. Yet, she didn't seem to notice his frightening appearance. She stared at her nearly empty wine glass with glassed over eyes.

Skirting around the table, I went to join most of the other servants where they stood stoically along the wall, watching the dinner unfold.

"Ashton, you're looking well this evening." Said Rosalyn. Despite everything I already knew about her, Rosalyn's appearance surprised me. She looked just as young as her son's new bride. Her face was unblemished and her hair was curled into a youthful style. She was stunning in her extravagant gown of golden silk. The pale skin of her fingers and throat were ringed with jewels. Even the buttons of her dress were made of sparkling topaz and sapphire. "Where were you, anyway? Your wife was here before you." She eyed him knowingly as she took a sip of her wine.

"I was just looking around, Mother. You know how I like to explore." He answered, returning his mother's subtle glare. Their relationship seemed very peculiar, more like rivals than mother and son. By simply watching them for a few moments, one could feel Rosalyn's mixed feelings of affection for Ashton and her fear at what he was capable of just as well as Ashton's carefully buried loathing for her.

"Yes, I know. I recall never being able to keep you in one spot for very long when you were little. It was cute then, not so much now. I will remind you once again, that my study is off limits to you." Said Rosalyn.

"I had forgotten." Ashton smiled charmingly, "That ward of yours is very impressive, Mother. How long did it take you to come up with that one?"

Rosalyn sat her class down with a noticeable clatter. She swiftly put her trembling hands in her lap, before Ashton could comment on them. "So how long will this one last?" She asked, gesturing at Elizabeth. She couldn't change the topic fast enough.

"I'm uncertain." Ashton shrugged. "She's done very well so far. I'll be going on a business trip next week so we'll have to wait and see, won't we?"

"Don't forget to inform the coroner before you leave. The poor girl will be six feet under before the month is out, I would wager." Rosalyn laughed.

"Have a little faith." Ashton replied, squeezing Elizabeth's hand. His wife remained as still and lifeless as a porcelain doll.

"Ashton?" The girl blinked and touched her forehead with a wince. "I-I don't feel well." She said her voice an almost inaudible whisper. "That butler looks very strange, don't you think?" She asked, looking towards Christopher.

Ashton picked up a bottle of wine that was sitting in front of him and filled her glass. "Drink your wine, Elizabeth. It will make you feel better."

Elizabeth drank her wine greedily, gulping down full mouthfuls until it was once again empty. Setting down the drained glass, the fog reappeared in her eyes and she fell back into her silent stupor.

"I could have filled her glass for you, sir." Said Christopher with all the forced respect he could muster.

"It's alright. I brought our own wine. She likes it much better than that swill mother keeps around here." Ashton smirked, setting the bottle of wine to the side without refilling his own glass. "I'll have some more, though." He smiled, holding up his glass.

"I thought your mother's reserves were swill." Christopher said, biting back his disdain.

"It is, but if I drink the whole bottle, there'll be none left for Elizabeth. Pour the drink, boy. I'm starting to sober up."

Sighing softly to himself, Christopher filled the glass nearly to its brim. Ashton gave him a wolfish grin as he took a large swallow of the wine and made a pleased hum at the taste.

Christopher started to retreat to the wall, where I and the other servants were standing, but Rosalyn caught him by the sleeve as he passed her. "Don't stalk off just yet, Thorn. I'm in the mood for dancing." She smiled at him coyly.

His lion's lips fell from their simply exasperated frown into a thoroughly annoyed scowl. "Very well, Mistress." He answered in a mutter.

Obviously accustomed to his lack of enthusiasm, Rosalyn paid him no mind. She snapped her fingers at the shadows and I. The shadows snapped their heads up to attention at once. I quickly did the same, hoping that she didn't notice the hesitation. "Mozart's Requiem Mass in D minor." She ordered.

Suddenly, fine instruments appeared. Half of the servants, went to their perspective instruments, some with violins or cellos, others took up the baby grand pianos that now cluttered the large dining room. The other half, myself included, took a step away from the wall. Beautiful song erupted from their placid masks in a variety of pitches, from the delicate soprano to the rumbling bass. Their song was so lovely, I dared not join them. I was afraid that my own voice would stand out as a stark contrast to theirs. Instead, I mimicked the slight movements of their hands and the motion of their heads as they sang an operatic ballad.

Tugging him around by the sleeve, Rosalyn led Christopher out to the open area of the dining room. They were followed a moment later by Ashton and Elisabeth. The two couples set into a slow waltz. Compared to Ashton's graceful steps, Elizabeth looked like a newborn filly, just getting used to her legs. She was slow to make the appropriate steps and when she did, she often stepped on Ashton's toes. She was stumbling around as if her limbs no longer worked her eyes misty in her catatonic state. She didn't speak at all, not even to apologize to her husband for crushing his toes for the sixth time since the dance began. When Ashton cried out in pain once again, I could hardly suppress a laugh.

Christopher, on the other hand, danced surprisingly well. He was not as graceful as Ashton, but he managed not to step on Rosalyn's feet. I'm sure he would have broken something if he had. "Your waltz has improved, Thorn. Have you been practicing?" I heard her ask him as they twirled past me.

"Not really, Madame." He answered, absently. He twirled them so that her back was to me. In that moment his eyes lifted to me and shifted towards a coat rack by the dining room doorway, where Ashton's coat and two women's cloaks were hanging.

Quietly, I stepped away from the other shadows and went to the cloaks to look for the book. My heart pounded loudly, all the while, as I tried to focus on the task at hand and not Christopher and Rosalyn's dance. On the rack were two cloaks. One was a dark salmon pink satin. The other was a pretty ivory one with white rabbit fur ringing the hood and bottom hem. I guessed that the ivory one was Rosalyn's as it was the most extravagant. The woman seemed to like nothing plain. Feeling the inside lining with the fingertips of my gloved hand, I found a small blue book hidden within a pocket.

"Have you given any more thought to my…proposition?" asked Rosalyn's sultry voice. I turned my head slightly to listen more closely. Even through the music, I could hear them fairly well.

Christopher's eyes drifted to the marble at his feet. "I have…given it more thought than I have in the past." He admitted. I swallowed hard. Sweat rolled down my face behind the mask.

"Really?" Rosalyn smiled victoriously. "Has your mortality been weighing heavily on you? I thought you said that you'd never give in to me, that your will was too strong for my magic, your resolve far greater."

"Things change." He said lowly, twirling her again.

"They certainly do. In a few months' time, you've begun singing an entirely different tune. What changed your mind?" Rosalyn prodded.

"I'm getting old, Rosalyn. I grow tired of our games. I want to be free of it, of you, if only for a few short years. If you were to give me that…a few years of freedom…I'd consider giving you what you want."

A terrible ache gripped me when I heard those words. I nearly gasped out load at the pain.

"Why? Do you wish to see your boyhood dreams come true?" Rosalyn laughed in cruel mockery. "You know it'll all come crashing down eventually, don't you? It would only be a dream. Eventually, you'll die and you'll belong to me once again." She glared towards the shadows that were still rapt in their music. "Only this time, you'll be nothing more than an obedient shadow. One that I will quickly grow bored of and ignore."

"That may be true, but at least I would have known what freedom feels like." Christopher's voice held great sadness. He met Rosalyn's gaze sheepishly, but once their eyes met, he didn't blink or look away. "Would you consider it?" I heard him ask and my own heart thudded into an abrupt silence.

"No!" I screamed, before I could catch myself. The scream ripped through the music, killing it instantly. The shadows stopped their playing, their instruments and voices fading away as the servants themselves melted into the shadows that danced along the dining room walls. The Crafts and Christopher stilled and gawked towards the servant that stood by the coat rack with a blue book clutched tightly in its hand. Christopher stared at me with horror, while Rosalyn's features twisted in rage.

"Imposter!" She screeched a blood curdling scream. She slashed her arm through the air. I felt a stinging pain on my face, as if she'd slapped me. My face jerked to the side and the mask fell away, shattering to a thousand pieces at my feet.

When I looked at her, the muscles beneath her face seemed to be shifting into a monster's snarl. A low roar escaped her throat as a spell spewed from her lips in a mumbled incantation. There was a terrible sound of shattering glass and splintering wood when the windows suddenly exploded, sending glass flying into the room. The ground beneath us shook violently, the earth screaming in protest against Rosalyn's terrible power.

I fell to the ground, covering my head in order to protect myself from the flying glass. This is how I will die. I thought miserably. What a fool I was to think that I could somehow save Christopher when he was already so close to giving up. He tried to make me believe that he was strong enough to resist Rosalyn's temptations, but I knew now that that was just another of his lies.

"Stop it, Rosalyn!" Christopher bellowed loudly over the roar and explosions. I looked up at his imposing form. He was crouched over me, shielding me from the flying debris. He was covered in cuts, his clothes were shredded and his fur was drenched in blood. "If you wish to kill anyone, it will have to be me!" He growled. "I will not let you harm her!" Perhaps he had been strong enough to resist her before…but that wasn't true anymore.

The rumbling stopped the sound falling into defining silence. The flying debris stopped in midair and clattered to the ground around us. Rosalyn erupted in laughter. "It was your doing?" She laughed. "You brought this girl here? Hid her beneath my nose? And here I thought you were a simpleton! I always thought you lacked a backbone. I'm actually pleased to see that I was wrong. It makes things far more interesting." She mumbled another spell and the debris that littered the floor picked itself up and flew back into its original place. In moments, the destruction was repaired, wiped clean from history. "My poor, dear Beast, did you think that she would help you? Did you think that she could break your spell, save you from the fate _you_ chose?" She cackled haughtily, her tone drenched in venom.

"Please, don't harm him!" I said, dragging myself out of Christopher's protection. "He gave me a place to stay when I had nowhere else to go!"

"Isabel." Christopher protested beneath his breath. "Don't. I beg you. Let her do what she will with me."

I stood on my feet, putting myself between Christopher and the Crafts. "Please, Madame Craft, do not punish him for hiding me. He had his reasons for doing that." I pleaded, bowing my head.

Christopher tugged at my coat tails, pleading with me to run away and leave him to his punishment. He could no longer stand upright. His clawed hand gripped at his side. Blood poured through his fingers.

"I know why he hid you. I'm afraid that his motives may not have been as pure as you imagine." Rosalyn chuckled. "Remove your hood, let me look at you." She ordered.

I pulled the hood off and shook out my tangled, sweaty hair. I looked up at her with fearful eyes, my face now smeared with dark make up.

Her dark eyes widened in shock, but her lips tweaked upwards in one corner, the beginnings of a smirk. "You're Peter and Beatrix's daughter, aren't you? I'd remember those eyes anywhere. They're very much like your mother's."

"Yes." I nodded.

She glared at Christopher coldly. "So, not only have you been hiding a girl here, but she just so happens to be my great-niece as well? Really, Thorn, when did you get so rebellious?"

"I have always been so, you just failed to notice."

Rosalyn's eyes flashed red for a moment and Christopher crumpled onto the floor, seizing with pain. He let out a terrible cry, his teeth gnashing together.

"Stop!" I screamed, flinging myself over him, to shield him from Rosalyn's magic. "You're killing him!"

"Thorn has disobeyed me, greatly. He must be punished for his sins." Rosalyn said matter-of-factly. She continued to stare at him with her dead eyes and Christopher shook more violently with a scream of agony.

"Release him!" I yelled, giving her a glare of my own. _For one moment, just one moment, please give me the power to protect him._ I prayed. _I cannot bear to lose another person that I care about._ "Release him!" I screamed again with a high pitched voice that didn't sound at all like me. I pounded my fist against the ground and from the floor, sprung up tall plumes of fire. The flames rushed towards the Crafts and made a wall between them and Christopher and me. I hit the floor again and the wall grew higher, until the flames licked at the ceiling.

In my arms, Christopher's body relaxed and became limp. I nearly panicked, thinking he was dead, but I was quickly reassured at the sound of his ragged breathing. I had stopped her. I had saved him. I looked up in astonishment at the wall of flames. Though they filled the room from floor to ceiling, they lit nothing on fire. Nothing burned. There wasn't even any smoke. _That power belonged to me?_ I wondered. It was amazing, chilling. If only I didn't know where that power came from, for even at that moment, I saw shadows lingering behind the wall of fire and their laughter finally reached my ears. They weren't fearful of my power. If anything, they were merely amused.

I held Christopher more tightly in my arms as Ashton stepped through the flames like he were merely passing through a waterfall. He stood before me, unscathed, his clothing barely singed. He grinned at me as if he'd just beaten me at a game. Rosalyn followed him and waved her hands as she entered, making the fire dissipate into nothingness.

"Can we keep her, Mother?" Asked Ashton teasingly. "I would so love to have a new pet."

"Don't play coy, my son. I'm sure that you were already aware of her presence." Rosalyn's tone was that of annoyance.

"I am saddened by your utter lack of trust in me." Ashton pouted, sticking out his lower lip childishly.

"Why else would she have tried to steal my book? You were the only one that knew about it and you're constantly trying to steal it. You put her up to it, I'm sure. I wouldn't be surprised if you asked her to break my mirror for you as well." She lifted her hand towards me and the book, which I'd dropped when I dove to cover Christopher, flew through the air until it was once again in her possession.

"It's good to see that your wit is still intact, despite your advanced age." Ashton said humorously, though his lips turned down into a deep scowl. He was not at all pleased that his plan had yielded little results.

"Leave now." Rosalyn ordered her son. Her voice was harsh and cold. "I will deal with your cousin and will see to it that she can no longer be used as your tool for my destruction. I tire of seeing your face. Go back to America with your dull little wife. I will see you at the mouse's funeral." She spat glancing distastefully at Elizabeth, who now lay on the marble floor, apparently having fainted sometime during our tantrums. "Until then, you are not to come near this place or me. If you disobey me, I assure you, I will know it."

Ashton bowed his head in acceptance of the order, his eyes burning with unsaid hatred. They might as well have turned that blood red shade that they had before. "As you wish, Mother, we'll leave." The woman's title came out as a hiss from his mouth. He nodded again towards me, smiling his serpent's grin. "It was a pleasure doing business with you, Miss Isabel. I look forward to our next meeting." With that, he retreated. He scooped up his wife, carrying her bridal style. His smile broadened at the horrified look on my own face as fire crept up from the soles of his feet, climbed up the fabric of his suit and engulfed him and his wife. When the fire dissipated, the two were nowhere to be seen.

"I swear, sometimes I think I should have never become a mother." Said Rosalyn as she stared towards where her son stood only a moment before. "It would have saved me a lot of aggravation to be sure. But then, if not for Ashton, I would not be the person I am, today. Heaven help me, I cannot help but love him, even if he does want me dead." She slowly shifted her head to look at me. "Were you going to do it? Kill me, I mean?"

I grit my teeth in anger, my fingers digging into the fabric of Christopher's jacket. "If I told you that the thought never crossed my mind, it would be a lie." I answered truthfully.

Rosalyn only smiled at me. "Why haven't you, then? When Ashton told you how you could kill me, why did you not do it right away? If you had, Christopher would not have been hurt."

"Maybe I should have." I hissed.

Rosalyn laughed loudly at me.

"However, I know that your power comes from the darkest place imaginable." I said, wiping angry tears from my eyes with the sleeve of my jacket. "I've seen what it's done to your son and what I suspect it has done to you. It's twisted you so badly that you're not even human anymore. That pretty face of yours is only a mask; one that can easily shatter."

Rosalyn's laughter died. Her face became stern, her eyes glittering as if the flames still burned around us. "Do not put me in the same league as my son. Ashton and I couldn't be any more different. We want very different things. We _are_ very different things. Do not speak to me as if you are so much greater than I. You did use your powers, didn't you? You are no better than us."

"I only used them to save Christopher from you!" I cried.

Rosalyn's eyes narrowed to slits. "Is that supposed to make it better? You used magic that you, yourself believe comes from Hell, and yet you still called to it, used it for your own motives. Did you not enjoy it, the overwhelming power?" Her eyes raked over me, dug into my flesh and studied what she found within. She smiled as if finding something that she liked. "I believe you did. I know you did. That feeling is intoxicating. Eventually, you'll crave it more and more until you cannot live without it. You'll give anything to obtain more." She grinned a smile that mimicked her son's wicked sneer. "You will offer my spirit friend anything in the world: your wealth, your loved ones, your body and soul. And then you will become exactly like _me_."

"I will never be like you! I would never give that demon anything!" I screamed at her. What she said couldn't possibly be true. I wouldn't do something like that. My resolve was strong, my faith stronger. To give in to such demands would only ensure my soul's damnation. I would never become her…I would never allow myself to become so twisted.

"You say that now." She chuckled. She turned away from me and sauntered towards the stair case, her voluminous skirts trailing behind her like the train of an extravagant wedding gown. As her gloved hand came to rest on the hand rail she leered back over her shoulder at me. "But you will soon sing a different tune. Now that you have had a taste of what you could possess, you will not be able to resist _his_ temptations. Her smile broadened and her eyes twinkled mischievously, "Be glad that you did not break my precious mirror. There is a reason why I keep it here and not at my current home. I'm not such a fool that I would not create fail-safes to ensure my own well-being."

Silently, she ascended the stairs and disappeared to the third floor. Once she was gone, the servants conjured themselves back into existence in their places along the walls. "Help me tend to him and get him into bed." I squeaked, my voice faltering. I was suddenly so exhausted. I wanted nothing more than to lie on the cold marble floor and sleep. Four servants picked Christopher up, two carrying his upper half, while the others carried his legs. Poor Christopher was still completely out of it. He was starting to come around, but his eyes were rolling around in his head, his lips moving as he mumbled my name over and over. "It's okay. I'm here, Christopher." I reassured him in a quiet voice. I frowned sadly at him. He was bleeding badly from wounds he'd suffered shielding me from flying debris during Rosalyn's temper tantrum. I hated her, hated her with a passion. One day, I promised myself, I would somehow find a way to free Christopher from her control so that she could never hurt him again. I would make her pay for what she had done to him…no matter how many bridges I would be forced to cross…and burn. And tonight, I was one step closer to making that promise a reality. I smiled as I pulled a folded piece of paper from my sleeve. I unfolded it in my hands. The edges were jaggedly torn and on the yellowed page were written a bizarre language of symbols and curving, circular runes. I had no idea what it said, but when I had touched this certain page of Rosalyn's spell book, it had burned my fingertips, as if the writing was written with a flame. Without having to know what was truly written, I knew I had exactly what I was looking for. Within my grasp was the key to both our freedoms.


	12. Chapter 11

Chapter 11: Beyond the Looking Glass

"What do you think, Foxy?" I asked the small dog as I ran my fingers through her long fur. "Can you make any sense out of this gibberish?" Foxy looked up at me with glistening, dark eyes. Her tongue lolled out of her mouth with a yawn. "I didn't think so." I muttered, folding the torn page into a tiny square for the eighth time in the last hour.

I gazed at Christopher's face over the expanse of room that divided us as I sat in a chair by the window. He was sleeping, although not peacefully it would seem. He thrashed around as he slept, fighting with the blankets and muttering random words: roses, wine, shadows, mirror, key, and finally Isabel tumbled from his lips. In fact, my name came up quite often and each time my frown grew deeper. Poor Christopher, how unfortunate he is to have me as his friend. I thought to myself with self-loathing. I glared at Christopher's wounds, memorizing the pattern of the blood stains on each bandage. He would die for me and yet I am too stupid to figure out how to save him even though the answer is in my hand at this very moment. I had not stolen the spell I had originally sought, but Christopher's own curse.

I had it. I had the answer, but it was written in a language too bizarre and foreign for me to understand. Apparently being able to read spells is not one of the traits I had inherited through the Craft bloodline. If I wanted to free either of us, I would need to learn how to read them myself. I snapped shut the book of spells that I had been studying for the past few hours. I had noted some recurring symbols, just as there are in any written language, but I couldn't begin to tell you what those symbols meant or even if they meant anything at all.

Rising from my chair, I laid Foxy at the foot of Christopher's bed. "Stay with him, please. I'm going to get some tea…and perhaps a cookie or two." I added at the sound of an insistent grumble from my empty stomach. The dog curled up on the bed obediently and I quietly snuck away.

I trudged towards the stair case. I rubbed at the soreness in my neck. I had been bent over books for far too long. As my hand reached the railing, a soft, low voice, like the lull of a father's gentle lullaby touched my ears. I stopped, recognizing the tone, the accent, and the slight rasp of the man's voice. "Father?" I breathed, my eyes widening in shock. Half afraid of seeing my father's ghost and half hoping that he would be there; I slowly turned my head towards the opposite door in the hall of the third floor, towards Rosalyn's private study.

The door was wide open and I could see the mirror with its odd, non-reflective glass and the shrine that surrounded it, clearly. The mirror flickered with a soft, golden light, like a candle in the wind. "Isabel." The voice, again sighed. I watched the mirror intently and after a moment, the flickering stilled. Within the golden light, a face began to conjure, forming from a smoky fog until my father was staring back at me. He smiled at me, that smile that I had been longing to see for such an achingly long time. His dark eyes twinkled and wrinkles formed at the corner of his mouth, just as they had always done in life. "My, how you've grown, child. You are even more beautiful than I remember. Truly, you are the spitting image of your poor, dear mother." Like the face, the rest of my father's body appeared and he reached out his hand. However, what I was seeing appeared only as a reflection. No flesh and blood hand reached out to take mine. He was simply my own mirrored image, trapped in that world beyond the looking glass. "Come, Isabel. Take my hand. It's been such a long time. I had feared that I would never see you again." A single tear fell from his eye as he spoke and I felt the wetness of tears on my cheek.

"Father!" I cried, flinging myself towards the witch's room. I knew that it was wrong, that this reflection couldn't possibly be the real him, but in that moment I forgot all reason. All that I knew was that my beloved father was there, before me. I could see him! I could hear his voice! He was calling to me and I must go to him!

I fell before the mirror, crying hysterically. "Father! Papa! Is that really you?" I blubbered, touching the glass, desperate to feel the warmth of his aging skin and the roughness of his beard, to know that he was alive and not a figment of my imagination.

Suddenly the candles of the shrine sprung to life, their flames burning white hot. The expression on my father's face changed. It twisted into a venomous sneer. The image before me shattered, the mirror's surface undulating like waves on the ocean. My father's face was erased, replaced instead with a white mask. It reminded me greatly of those worn by the servants, but instead of the placid, unemotional face, this one was smiling ear to ear in a Cheshire cat's grin. The mask's mouth opened wide, until the entire mirror had become its gaping mouth. Black vines slithered out of the mirror. They moved like snakes across the floor and wound themselves around me before pulling me into the abyss of the mirror's dark, ink like surface. The mask swallowed me whole.

I coughed violently as my senses slowly came back to me. My chest felt tight and I barely wished to breathe. The air smelled horrible, like smoke and something dead. I felt as if ash had filled my lungs and had coated my throat. Opening my eyes, I dragged myself shakily to my feet. Around me stood a forest of scorched, black, dead trees and at my feet was layer upon layer of thick ash. The sky above flickered and writhed with clouds of twisting flames. "Where am I?" I asked aloud. My body seized as I coughed again. A black stain marred my hand from where I'd covered my mouth.

"Anywhere and everywhere, darling." My father's voice cackled. I froze in fear as the thing from the mirror appeared and started to dance around me, practically skipping with joy. That was exactly what he was, the dark spirit that granted the Crafts their power. I knew this, I could feel it in every ounce of my bone, and yet its disguise still struck a nerve in me. Although it had shown its true self a moment before, it still wore my father's face and a part of me still wished to reach out to him.

"How dare you use my father's face to trick me!" I hissed angrily.

The spirit laughed, "It's not my fault you fell for it, now is it?" It stopped dancing and stood still before me, his hands clasped behind his back. I noted that he was wearing the mirrored version of the servants' attire. Its suit was white and black gloves covered its hands. "I do not truly have a form, at least not one that your mortal eyes would understand, so I simply chose a form that you are familiar with. I have noticed that this particular man has been constantly in your thoughts." It pointed at my father's face. "Poor child, you miss your father terribly, don't you? You wish to see him more than anything in the world, so I felt that he would be the best choice. If you like, I can alter it?" The face shifted from my father's to Christopher's, to Rosalyn's, to my uncle Lionel's, and then finally to Ashton's. In between the changes, flashed the Cheshire cat's smile. "This one is my particular favorite." The spirit gave a short laugh. Ashton's face smiled broadly, showing a mouthful of crowded teeth.

"You may wear any face you like, except my father's." I huffed, breathing heavily in the ash thick smog. I tried my best to hide my disgust of the creature that wore the faces of both the living and the dead with little success. "Why have you brought me here, demon? Are you going to take my soul?" The shakiness of my voice betrayed my fear.

"Of course not, darling. Why would I do that when you have so much more potential? I have simply brought you here, to my home, to have a civilized conversation. Surely you, a lady of refinement and class, can manage that."

"I do not wish to speak with demons. I will do nothing you say."

"You wound me." The spirit sighed. "Do not reject my proposal before you've even heard it out. You may find that it will benefit you greatly in the long run, perhaps save you a lot of heartache and grief?"

"Ashton Craft has already given me a proposal and I have denied him. I am not at all interested in your sort of deals. Nothing that your kind offers is ever worth the price."

"Is it?" It smirked. "What if I told you that by doing one, simple task for me, I would set Christopher free of his curse and hide you away from Rosalyn and the rest of your kin. Christopher would be human again, free to live out his life in peace and happiness and you could go about your own life and forget that this nasty business ever happened. Does that not sound blissful?"

"You still have not said what is in it for you. The devil does not give gifts freely."

The spirit laughed. My cousin's stolen face twisted into an amused smile. "No he certainly does not. As you are aware, Isabel, you are from a family of sorcerers, people who are well practiced in the dark arts, black magic. However, this was not always so. Once they were nothing but common fools, dabbling in things that they did not fully comprehend. Your great-grandfather, Edward Craft, however, was a very different matter. He was more skilled than most and perhaps a thousand times more foolish than any other practitioner. He'd been participating in his family's rituals since he was a very small child and as a young man, he thought himself to be invincible. Such is the stupidity of youth. He was unafraid to push the boundaries." The spirit began to circle me, his eyes intently focused on my face, watching my expressions as he told his story. "Then one night, alone in his large home, he performed a ritual that had always been forbidden. He called forth a spirit from the nether realm, the land of the dead. However, this was no ordinary spirit. It was something far more powerful, far older, and far more devious. This spirit had never been alive and would never die. The boy was envious of the spirit's immortality and strength and he desired it for himself. So he bound the spirit to a simple mirror and trapped it inside, where it would be forever caged, barred from returning to its own world. The spirit was furious and though it might be bound to the earthly realm, it was not bound to serve a lowly human. In vengeance, the spirit withheld the power that Edward had lusted after. Unfortunately, the foolish man was more cunning than the spirit gave him credit for. The boy was learning quickly about his kind. He knew that a spirit such as he, craved the nourishment of souls. Without them, the spirit only suffers and writhes in agony. So he left the spirit to its pain, year after year, he waited and listened to its screams of torment, knowing that it was only a matter of time. The boy was patient. After a decade of rotting, he knew the spirit would be desperate for relief, and so he promised the spirit human souls in exchange for its power. The spirit, starved of sustenance for so long, agreed without hesitation. It wasn't until sometime later that it realized the benefits of such a partnership. For as long it feeds its captors with its power, it will obtain all the souls that it desires and it will grow all the more powerful." The spirit's eyes glassed over as it reminisced. "Once it is strong enough, it will break free of its cage and return to the world that it longs so much for. It only needs to be patient and insure that the cycle, begun long ago, continues for a long as it requires."

"You want this to continue? For you to be used, imprisoned?" I asked.

"Do you not understand? The Crafts are being used just as much as I am. They feed me the souls of those they've cursed. I give them my power in exchange. The more they feed me, the stronger I become and the closer I am to breaking free of this limbo world. I am very close to it, darling. My freedom. And once I am free, I will repay my captor's hospitalities tenfold."

"So why am I here?" I asked, rubbing at my arms to fend off the chill of the air. It was so terribly cold in the spirit's world. It seemed so dead that not even warmth could exist there.

The spirit stopped circling. Its head tilted to the side and it brushed back Ashton's jet black hair. "I have watched you since you were growing within your mother's womb, child. I observed your father and all the Crafts that preceded you since my imprisonment. I know you, more than you know yourself, I think. You care for Christopher Thorn, don't you?" Christopher's lion-like face briefly flickered in the place of Ashton's.

My face began to burn and I looked away. "Yes. He's my friend. I care for him…a great deal."

"Yes, he's your friend." The spirit cackled. "And that is all that he will ever be, though you know, deep down, that he wants to be far more than that to you, you will never allow yourself to return his feelings. A part of you is still terrified of him."

"I'm not afraid of Christopher!" I snapped. "I'm used to him now. His appearance doesn't frighten me anymore."

"You're right. It's not his appearance that you fear, but his intentions." It glared at me knowingly and I felt a chill sweep down my spine. "You caught him lying to you before and you are certain that he still is. You've done a fine job of convincing yourself to the contrary, but in your heart and soul, you know that Rosalyn has her claws deeply imbedded in his mind. You know that he is her pawn, in every sense of the word and your greatest fear is that one day, he will betray you and all the kindness that he has shown you will have been a lie from the very beginning."

"How can you know a person's heart when you've never had one?" I let out a shuttering breath that formed a plume of white fog around my head. It was so very cold, like a midwinter night. My breath appeared like smoke and my skin grew cold and numb even as the sky burned.

"I'm right, aren't I?" The spirit smirked at me.

My eyelids fluttered closed as snow fell from the fiery sky. I winced at the sudden pain as the snow touched my skin. It wasn't snow at all, but ashes, still hot from the fires above. "I know that he loves me." My lips tingled as I remembered the stolen kiss. I swear I could still taste Christopher's favorite wine when I licked absently at my dry, cracked lips. "I have long known that he has feelings for me, but I have been ignoring it mostly…until tonight. He nearly gave in to Rosalyn's demands and almost died defending me from her. When he did that…I realized that his feelings for me were stronger than I ever dreamed. My presence has destroyed his resolve. I have broken him." I stifled a sob with my hands over my mouth. "It's my fault that he got hurt and I know that I will someday hurt him even more. I'll break his heart and he will hate me for the rest of his life."

"What if all of those feelings turn out to be nothing but a charade? How will you feel?" The spirit whispered in my ear, its breath even more frigid than the dead air around us. I let out a trembling cry and fell to my knees. All of my strength felt like it had left me in an instant. "It wouldn't hurt you anymore than if he stabbed you with a knife, would it? He is the first human being you could ever call a friend, besides your poor, dead father. If he suddenly, turned against you, your own heart would break. It would shatter beyond repair."

I nodded helplessly, wiping wet soot off of my face. "Christopher is my best friend. I cannot imagine him betraying me, but you are right that there is still that lingering fear. I know that there are some things that he is incapable of telling me because of Rosalyn's curse. I cannot help but be afraid of what those things may be. I don't know if I'll ever be able to fully trust him, despite how much I want to. He has been through a great deal of pain in his life. I do not wish to add to it. I wish that I could give him all the love that he craves, the life he's always dreamed of, but I can't. Not for as long as I harbor this fear and mistrust in my heart."

"But you can." The spirit leered. "Remember, I can grant you the power to set everything right. All you have to do is accept my gift, just as your ancestors before you have. Help me keep the cycle going and you will have everything that you desire."

I felt my insides shutter at his words. I stared, wide eyed, at the spirit with my teeth clenched, my throat tight. The bruises on my throat began to throb. "You just sounded a lot like Ashton." I said lowly.

The spirit's smile fell, curving into a deep scowl.

"He proposed something very similar. He told me that if I married him and bore him a son that he'd give me whatever I wanted, anything I could dream of, but I know what he is and I know what you are. Your gifts sound wonderful, but we must all pay the piper eventually. In the end, my own soul will forever belong to you. So no, I will not accept whatever gifts you offer. I will find a way on my own, with my own power. I do not need your help."

"You are an even bigger fool than your grandfather!" The spirit spat. It yanked me harshly off the ground by my arm, nearly pulling the limb out of its socket. Ashton's face melted away, like candle wax. It dripped onto the ash covered ground, leaving puddles of flesh at his feet. The white mask with the Cheshire cat's grin glared at me, the mouth moving grotesquely as it spoke. "I know you Isabel Craft! I know you fret and worry over that beast! You are eager to save him, but you are too stupid to take the cure when it is handed to you on a silver platter! You could save him, but you are too selfish to do what it takes! Christopher would die for you! Give me his soul for you! But you won't even marry Ashton to save him! I have offered you the power to make the earth tremble, the sun to go black and cold, anything you want and yet you still refuse! Why? Fear!" It bent over me, as I cringed away from it, my mouth open in a silent scream. "Enjoy your time with your precious beast, my beauty." It touched my cheek with its gloved hand. I flinched away at the contact, for the leather gloves felt more like living flesh. "For soon his curse will take his life and you shall have no one else to blame but yourself."

I cried out as I awoke on the cold floorboards of the mansion. I sat up, sputtering and gasping, still feeling a burning ache inside my chest. I looked around in bewilderment. I wasn't in Rosalyn's study, but at the top of the staircase. It was as if I had never gone to the mirror in the first place. I rubbed at my temples, groaning at the throbbing pain in my head.

"Isabel!" I heard Christopher call out.

I scrambled to my feet. "Coming!" I called back, quickly running back to him. For the moment, I pushed the strange dream to the back of my mind.

Christopher was awake and was sitting up a little with a bunch of pillows propping him up. Foxy lay sleeping in his lap. "Are you alright?" He asked with alarm. "I heard you scream."

"Y-yes," I stuttered. Wiping my hands nervously on my skirt, I noticed the black stain on my hand. "I fell asleep for a moment. I must have had a nightmare." It wasn't a dream at all. I was really there, with the spirit. It was all real. My knees were shaking beneath my skirt. I bit at my lip to keep from screaming at the sudden realization.

"In the hallway?" Christopher quirked an eyebrow at me and forced himself not to laugh.

"I was very tired. I'm not used to staying up this late."

"I know." He nodded. "I'm sorry I missed welcoming in the New Year with you, Isabel."

"That's alright. You've done more than enough for me tonight." I moved my chair closer to him and sat down, thankful to get off of my weakened legs. They didn't even feel like they belonged to me. "Thank you for defending me earlier." I said, feeling a blush creep over my face.

"Don't thank me. I couldn't just stand by and let her hurt you." He said, rubbing absently at a bandage on the back of his hand. "And thank you for saving me, as well. Rosalyn probably would have killed me if you hadn't stepped in."

"You saw that? I thought you were unconscious." I muttered.

"I was aware enough." He paused for a breath and his expression became hard and stern. "I appreciate what you did for me, but please Isabel, don't ever use your magic again. Magic changes people. I don't want that to happen to you."

I bit my lip, my eyes drifting away from his as I spoke. "I'm afraid that I cannot promise that."

"What?" Christopher rasped, gaping at me like I'd grown a second head. "You can't be serious, Isabel."

"I am serious." I replied. I forced myself to look him in the eyes, to endure the disappointment and fear that I saw in them. "Christopher, I have your curse." I took the folded paper from its hiding place in my sleeve and handed it to him.

He unfolded it and stared at it as it lay on his lap. "Why did you steal this when you could have taken the spell for the gate? This piece of paper won't do us any good."

"But it will." I said, my brows narrowing over my eyes. "I'm going to cure you, Christopher and I'm going to set myself free of this place. I'll set us both free, by my own strength, my own skill. All I have to do is persuade Rosalyn to teach me a little of what she knows."

"You realize that gaining this power will only turn you into another Rosalyn." Christopher growled. His teeth peeked from beneath his lips as he tried and failed to suppress his anger. "You'll become even more of a monster than I am."

"I'm not going to become Rosalyn. I only need to learn enough magic to read spells, then I will be able to free us both and we can go live our lives. Is that not what you want?"

"Not if this is the way I get it." Christopher's head drooped and he pushed the torn spell book page off of his lap. It fell soundlessly to the floorboards and neither of us made a move to retrieve it.

I reached over and laid my hand over Christopher's. "You know that I must try this. I do not like their magic any more than you do, but I need to do whatever it takes to help you. I owe you that much."

"You don't owe me anything." He replied softly. His hand beneath mine turned over and he linked his fingers through my own. The action was hesitant and unsure, almost as if he were uncertain if I would welcome his touch."I am your guardian. You are my ward. It's my job to protect you and that is what I intend to do, even if it kills me. I…love that you care enough about me to want to help, but please, I prefer it this way. Leave it alone."

I frowned at him. I could feel him trembling. "You're asking me to stand idly by and let you die." He looked away from me. His mouth clenched shut and he swallowed hard. "Tell me, could you do the same if our roles were reversed? Could you just let me die?"

"No." He said, almost inaudibly. He squeezed my hand tightly. "I'm not going to talk you out of this, am I?"

"Not a chance."

He laughed bitterly and tilted his head back on his pillow with a sigh. "After all these years, I finally meet someone who gives a damn about me, and now I really wish that they would hate me. How does that happen?"

"I really don't know, Christopher." I shrugged with a small smile. "It's just your luck, I suppose."

"Yes, just my luck." His eyes fluttered closed and he quietly fell back to sleep.

I sat there staring at our still linked hands for a long time. "Sometimes, I wish the same of you." I whispered softly. "If only you would hate me. Then I could never break your heart." And you could never break mine. I thought.

As I rose from my chair to head to my room, I noticed a servant had conjured itself beside me. I stifled a yelp of surprise. For a moment, I thought it was the spirit with its wicked smile. Thankfully this mask was the dull, expressionless mask of those poor souls of the damned. The servant extended his gloved hand towards me. In it, it held the golden pocket watch I had been waiting to give Christopher for Christmas. With everything that had happened since Christmas, I had forgotten all about it. "Thank you for reminding me." I said, smiling at the servant politely. I took the watch from him and took a moment to pop it open and read the inscription once more.

_To Christopher with love._

Why had the servants engraved such words into Christopher's gift? To me, they sounded cruel. Why give him hope, when it was a lie? I wished I could erase the message, just make it disappear, but instead I merely closed the lid once more and laid it on Christopher's pillow, right by his head.

Such cruel words, I thought miserably, those words that will never be true.

Staggering in a fear induced stupor; I meandered my way back to Rosalyn's study. My head was throbbing and the strength in my limbs was waning. I could think of a thousand other places I'd rather be than that room. I could smell it, the reek of that dead world; brimstone and decaying flesh. The room was now exuding the same putrid aroma. "Spirit?" I called, my heart jumping up into my throat as panic took root within. "I know you're here, listening, watching. Show yourself to me." I drew as close to the mirror as I dared. Its surface went black once more and from the darkness, a woman's pale face took form. Her blue eyes sparkled with mischief, her red lips spread much too wide.

"Changed your mind so soon? My, that was quick, although I can hardly blame you, darling. What I offer is difficult to pass up." The woman laughed with sickening darkness. I swallowed back my feelings of disgust at the face, for it was mine that the spirit wore. "Why are you making that face at me?" The spirit asked. "You told me I could be anyone I wanted, besides your father, and you do have such a pretty face." The spirit reached up to run its white fingers across its own colorless cheek.

I shivered and unconsciously took several steps back from the mirror at the feeling of cold fingers on my skin. "Stop!" I shouted in a desperate attempt to will myself free of the ghostly touch. Looking only amused, the spirit stopped its teasing of me. Like a ripple running across the surface of a placid lake, the twisted reflection dispersed and was replaced by that of the spirit itself with its grinning face. "I have not come to accept your offer. I come only with a message for Rosalyn, one I wish for you to deliver, since you are her loyal slave." I showed the spirit my own little smirk at those final words.

The features of its mask shifted into those of displeasure at this, as if the mask was its actual flesh. "And what, pray tell, is this message?" It sneered, intentionally using my father's voice.

I tried to ignore it the best I could, repeatedly reminding myself that it was a mimicry, yet my chest still tightened with grief at the familiar sound. No, I would not let it win, I would not let it get the better of me again! I forced those painful feelings away and locked them away, deep inside a secret place within my soul. In its place burned a searing rage. My facial features pinched themselves into a reflection of Chirstopher's snarl.

Instead of his usual amused reaction to my show of anger, the spirit somewhat deflated and crossed its arms with a weary sigh.

Seeing that I had won this little squabble, I calmed myself, allowing my features to relax, while still holding up a sturdy wall between my feelings and the spirit's influence. "Tell Rosalyn, that I would like to become her apprentice." I smiled wryly. "She is so very talented, I can think of no better teacher."

The spirit chuckled to itself, shifting slightly as if it were moving towards me. The image in the mirror shifted and it was so close to the mirror, its face filled the entire thing. "You think that you are so witty." It hissed, its mouth stretching even wider, until the corners almost touched its empty eyes. "I know you, Isabel. I know every word you've ever spoken, every thought and dream you've ever had. You think that by learning to read that stolen spell, that you will win our little game, but you would be dead wrong. The only way to save the beast is to give in to us. You must accept your heritage, the power in your blood and Ashton as your husband. So long as you defy me, nothing will change. Christopher cannot be saved without our help. He will inevitably die. Whether his death shall come while he is in your arms or bitterly alone, has yet to be decided, nevertheless, the end is still the same."

"You were never going to give me your power freely, were you, Spirit? There was always a catch. You want me to marry Ashton. This is the way you want the cycle to continue."

"Ashton's and my own ambitions are very much intertwined, Miss Craft, but they are far from the same." The Spirit rasped, its eye sockets narrowing slightly as it glared at me with hatred.

"You are wrong about me." I forced myself to sound sure and confident, even while doubt was creeping in to steal away every scrap of courage I had left. "I can free Christopher. I know that my plan will work. I'm sure of it." It took a very deep breath and a bite of my inner cheek to get the next words to leave my mouth. "If I fail, then I will marry Ashton, just like you wanted."

The spirit laughed loudly. The sound began in its own voice, then changed into that of Ashton, my father, myself and Christopher, before it became entirely inhuman as fire burned the image away. The mirror blinked and returned to its strange non-reflective surface. I stood in an empty room. No sound reached my ears. Only the reek of death lingered behind to keep me company.


	13. Chapter 12

Chapter 12: The Spell

* * *

><p>"Isa? Isabel?" A man called to me, his voice a soft breath on the lilac scented wind.<p>

I sat beneath the garden's large oak, the garden's lush grasses and shrubbery bathed in the vibrant colors of the sunset. I struggled with the exuberant skirts of the blue and silver ball gown as I climbed onto my feet. I could see the shadowed form of a man standing by the statue of Hades and Persephone. His back was to me as he admired the statue. Again I heard him calling, "Isa? Isabel? Where are you?"

I ran towards him, my feet striding across the lawn, intent on their destination. My racing heart urged me forward. I was compelled by a rush of urgency. I must reach this man, whoever he may be.

As I drew closer to him, I came to recognize his silhouette more and more. I recognized the broad shoulders and the golden blond of his hair. He was human, as he had appeared once before, but he looked different. His hair was shorter and his beard had been shaven. He turned his head towards me and I saw that he wore a black mask that covered his face from his nose to his hairline. Only his mouth remained uncovered. His eyes shone at me with their silvery sheen from the mask's empty eyes. He wore the servants' black and white uniform. It was disheveled. The pants and jacket were wrinkled and the white shirt's collar was unbuttoned. There was a rip over his heart and there it was stained crimson. "You came back." He shuttered, stepping out of the shadow cast by the statue. He was unnaturally pale, his lips almost a shade of blue.

"I never left." I breathed, sucking air through my mouth as I tried to register his appearance. Reaching towards me, he tried to take another step forward but instead crumpled into the grass.

"Christopher!" I screamed falling to my knees by his side. "What happened to you!" I cried, tears falling onto his black mask. "Did Rosalyn do this?" I demanded, patting his cheek to keep him awake. His eyes were rolling around in his head; their silver irises fading in color as they took on the milky sheen of death.

"No." He whispered, his breath barely audible over my sobbing. He stared up at me, his rolling eyes fixating on my face. He reached up to touch my cheek with his freezing fingertips. "You did."

I looked at him in confusion at first, but when I looked down at myself I saw that my hands and the front of the beautiful ball gown were drenched in his blood. I did this. I did this to him. He let out a shuttering breath and went limp in my arms. I killed the beast.

I awoke flailing around in my bed like a landed fish. I screamed and unceremoniously rolled off of the bed, landing painfully on my back. The wind was knocked out of me and I laid there gasping for air. I stared up at the ceiling, mentally giving thanks to God that that was only a dream.

"Did you have a nightmare, Dear?" A woman with pale gold hair and empty eyes leaned over me. She smiled gleefully at me. "I love those. Dreams fade away from your memory, easily forgotten, but nightmares you always remember."

"Rosalyn." Her name spat from my mouth like a curse.

"Don't look at me like that. You're the one who asked me to come. You are to be my apprentice, remember?" She sighed as if bored with this whole venture and sat at the edge of my bed.

I dragged myself shakily up from the floor as I tried and miserably failed to hide my contempt. "I agreed to learn from you. That doesn't mean I have to stop hating you." I said and was somewhat startled by the growling nature of my voice.

"True enough." She muttered, brushing idly at the skirt of her black dress. "I hate this ugly thing." She huffed, making a sour face.

"Then why wear it?" I growled, retreating to my wardrobe to find something for myself to wear.

"Believe me; this thing would not have ever seen the light of day, if I didn't have to attend a funeral today. Poor Elizabeth, God rest her soul." She said without much feeling. The words reeked of blasphemy.

My hands stilled where they were fumbling with my dresses. A chill swept down my spine. "Elizabeth is dead?" I asked, remembering Ashton's young wife. She had acted so odd at the New Year's party, almost like she were already drunk or half out of her mind. She hadn't seen Christopher as he truly was and was stumbling all over the place, yet her husband had steadily supplied her with more drink.

"Yes, seems she took a nasty fall from her balcony. Poor thing, I told her that the bottle would be her down fall." Rosalyn smiled with pleasure.

"I'm sure Ashton is heartbroken." I spat sarcastically. I was fairly certain that Elizabeth didn't fall because of too much wine, but rather a pair of helping hands.

"He's dealing with his grief remarkably well, he's already got his heart set on another young lady." She said.

"Who would that be?"

She gawked at me in mock surprise, "Isabel, I'm surprised that you have not noticed his great affection for you. He finds you quite beautiful. You remind him of your mother, I think. She was the one and only girl who ever broke his heart."

"Forgive me, if I do not fill pity for the man who tried to kill my mother." I huffed. I felt very strange whenever Rosalyn was in my presence. I usually had a good, calm nature, but whenever she was around I became instantly hostile. It wasn't a feeling I enjoyed.

"He didn't try to kill your mother. He loved her dearly. No, it was your father he tried to kill." She corrected me. As if it mattered. A horrified look crossed her too perfect face when I drew the black dress Christopher had given me from my wardrobe. "Don't you dare wear that dreadful color!" She hissed, snatching the dress from me and shoving it back into the wardrobe. "Black is for old widows!" I frowned irritably at the familiar words. Christopher had the same prejudice against black dresses on young girls. I wondered what else he had learned from his mistress.

Rosalyn reached into the very back of the wardrobe and brought out the extravagant blue and silver gown with the sapphire buckled shoes. "Here," she ordered, a sickeningly sweet smile curving her lips. "This will do."

"But we're only having lessons." I argued. "I'm learning how to cast spells, not how to waltz."

She tapped my nose playfully with a sharp nailed fingertip. "A girl never misses an opportunity to beguile male suitors, my dear." She giggled.

A shutter rolled through me along with the realization that Ashton most likely would make an appearance. She was gussying me up for her son.

I bit my tongue to fend off the slew of insults and profanity that was bubbling up my throat as Rosalyn dressed me in my finest clothes and jewels as if I were a doll. She primped and pampered me, molding me into the resemblance of a proper lady, but I felt like anything but a lady. I felt like a cow being led to the slaughter. She was encouraging Ashton's interest in me, encouraging him in his attempted seduction. Now that his wife was dead, I feared his attempts would grow more and more persistent.

Finally, she finished powdering my face and allowed me to leave the room. She led me down to the dining room. I was unsurprised to see Ashton sitting idly at the table. He was leaning back onto the back legs of his chair with his feet propped up on the table. He wasn't wearing his usual formal black suit. He wore no jacket. His shirt was unbuttoned at the collar and the sleeves were rolled over his elbows. He bit loudly into a shiny red apple and smacked his lips as he ate it. In all the times I had met him before, I had never seen this version of him. He was almost childlike.

"Miss Isabel is ready to begin her lessons." Rosalyn announced. She seemed to glide to her chair at the head of the table. I did not hear the tapping of her heels on the floorboards underfoot.

"Isabel!" Ashton bellowed with his cheeks filled with apple. He audibly swallowed, gulping down his food. He leapt up from his chair and pulled out the one beside him for me. "Forgive my appearance." He apologized, self-consciously brushing the front of his somewhat wrinkled shirt. "It has been a tiring day and the weather is unnaturally warm. It feels like late spring, rather than mid-winter."

Rebelliously, I plopped down in the chair furthest away from him.

"You still don't like me, do you?" He chuckled, his eyes sparking with the fires of challenge. "We will see how long that lasts. I'm going to make it my personal mission to change your opinion of me. After all, if a beast can earn your affections, I certainly can."

"I'm afraid you do not process half the charm he does." I responded smugly with a smirk. He merely smiled his devil's smile, eyes still burning like smoldering coals.

"Stop you're chattering. We have a lesson to begin." Said Rosalyn. She moved her hands over the table in a motion that resembled the opening of a book and a thick book took form where her hands glided through the air. It landed on the table with a loud "thunk."

The sight of the book with its weathered leather cover and yellowed pages made a surge of fear race through me. I was at once panicked and strangely excited. "Can I have a moment to check on Christopher?" I asked, desperate to flee. I was frightened by those feelings. The promise I made to myself to not give in, to not become like the other Crafts, was a thousand times more daunting as I stared at that book with fingertips that burned with the power that was now stirring just beneath the surface.

"I have already dealt with him. His wounds are perfectly healed. He's in the garden now. I have him putting up a new trellis." Said Rosalyn without looking up from the book. She was absently flipping through its pages, trying to find a suitable spell for us to begin with.

I was surprised that she would heal him, given that it was she that hurt him to begin with, but I bit my tongue and did not ask her any further questions about it. Christopher was her tool and she would have no use for him if he were broken.

"I believe we should begin with the very basics." She pointed towards me and a copy of the original book appeared before me on the table. Off to the side, a stack of blank paper floated down to the table along with a quill and a vial of ink. "In order to cast a spell, you first need to learn how to read it. The books are written in a code of the Crafts' own devising. I will provide you with the translations for most of the symbols."

"Mother, let's start with the spell for endless sleep." Ashton recommended. His smile broadened at my furious glare.

Rosalyn laughed coldly, "Ashton, you are far too cruel. Let us not remind the little orphan of her dead mother." She said jeeringly. They both grinned at me with their black eyes and too wide grins. Ashton's teeth appeared sharper than they should be. I became cold. My skin felt like ice. A mixture of hatred and fear settled heavily in my gut. I felt as though I were staring into the faces of wolves; wolves with a taste for human flesh and blood. "We will begin with the spell for metamorphosis. Perhaps Isabel can change Christopher into a pig. It would be a marvelous improvement."

Yes! This is what I want! Teach me the right spell, you fools! Help me free my friend so that I may ruin you! I thought victoriously. The voice in my head was wicked and sounded far too much like Rosalyn. My fear doubled, despite the smile I was fighting desperately to suppress.

Ashton and I were silent while Rosalyn went through the symbols one by one. She interpreted each and allowed me to write the translations down for reference. All the while I had to bite my inner cheek to keep a grin off my face. They had no idea they were helping me to defeat them. They would soon realize their error when Christopher and I left this place hand in hand. Perhaps we would set fire to the mansion before we left. I was certain that Christopher would love to watch it burn. I certainly would. This evil infested place needed to be consumed in hellfire to cleanse it of the Crafts' poisonous taint.

The translations took some time and by the time she finished, my hands were cramped and my fingers were painful to bend.

"We will take a break here, for now. I am famished." Rosalyn whined childishly. She snapped her fingers, ordering a servant to come to her. "Bring us some tea and sandwiches please…oh, and some chocolate tarts." She added, squirming around in her seat like a five year old. She looked as excited about the prospect of chocolate as I would be getting a new pet.

"I'll have some wine." Ashton ordered.

While they were busy with their orders, I discreetly brought my notes into my lap, folded the paper and tucked it into the wrist of my gloves. Christopher's spell was already hidden away in my bodice. "Have the servants deliver mine in the garden, please. I could use some fresh air." I said as I rose from my chair and stretched my arms a bit.

"Of course, do as you like, Dear." Rosalyn chirped pleasantly.

"Go ahead." Ashton waved me away. He rested his chin on his knuckles, looking very bored. His eyelids drooped over his eyes with exhaustion.

I was stunned by their eagerness to let me leave. I had expected them to demand that I stay. I did not linger to wait for them to change their minds. I walked briskly out of the house and broke into a near run as soon as I was outside. Though I tried my best to keep the skirt of the ball gown clean by hiking it up over my knees in a very unladylike fashion, most of it still trailed behind me and was dragged across the lawn. My lips stretched painfully into the biggest smile I think I've ever worn. "Christopher!" I called to him with a shrieking voice. I didn't see him anywhere among the roses, so I made my way towards his tool shed. There, I found him kneeling by the side of it, looking into a dugout space beneath the shed. To my surprise, Foxy was with him. She too was looking curiously into the opening, making a little whining noise.

"What are you doing?" I asked, dropping my skirt, so that it covered my legs once again.

"Come look at this." He said in a hushed voice and waved me over. I knelt down, completely disregarding the well fare of my dress, and peered inside. From within the darkness, stared two sets of eyes. As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I made out two wiggly forms covered with fur and small, angular ears. I could hear them, mewing insistently for their mother.

"Kittens!" I gasped and giggled happily.

"Seems a stray cat got through the gate and made herself at home." Christopher chuckled. "We might be trapped here, but the animals can come and go as they please. Do you like them?" He asked.

"Of course! They are very cute, but I have something even better than kittens." My grin turned sly as I pulled my notes from my glove. "I have the translations I needed for your curse. I can undo it! You're going to be free, Christopher!"

Christopher suddenly became unsteady and fell back into the grass as his eyes stared at the piece of paper in my hand with a look of horror. "She gave you the translations? Just like that?" He asked, his voice trembling.

"Rosalyn's not as smart as she thinks she is." I smirked. Ripping the torn spell book page from its hiding place in my bodice, I prepared to translate the curse. My heart pounded with elation. Christopher's years of captivity and loneliness were over. I would be the one to set him free and ultimately save his life and both our souls.

"Wait." Christopher suddenly clasped his big hand over my mouth, silencing me before I could utter a syllable. "I don't think this is a good idea, Isabel. There's something not right about this."

I impatiently swiped his hand away from my face. "I know you don't trust her. I don't either. She may very well have lied and these translations may not work. But what if they did? We have to try. We can't just ignore this chance."

"What if they cause something terrible to happen?" His face tightened severely as he stared directly into my eyes, urgently pleading with me not to read my notes. "Please, forget the notes, don't read them. They won't help anyway."

"But the answer could very well be written in the curse itself!" I leapt up and away from him, hurrying to translate the odd text of the curse. "Every rose has its thorn." I began, shakily as I broke into a run.

Christopher was chasing me through the rose garden, trying with all earnest to steal my notes away from me. "The thorn is sharp. Its point drips with poison." My eyebrows crumpled with confusion as I read on.

From somewhere behind me, Christopher's insistent pleading had become screams. "Isabel!" He bellowed at the top of his lungs. "Stop! Don't read the spell!"

"The thorn is ugly, but without it the rose is naked. Without its poisonous guardian, the wolves will devour the rose."

"Isabel!" Christopher roared. The entire garden seemed to quiver at the animalistic sound.

"Without the thorn, the rose will die." I read the final line of the curse's translations.

Christopher had become eerily silent. He no longer called after me. Nor did I hear his heavy footsteps. He was no longer chasing me. I stopped my running and turned to look behind me. "Christopher?" I called to him, still gripping the notes in my hands. The garden had become very quiet. There were no birds. Foxy was no longer barking. There wasn't even the rustling of the leaves in the wind. "Christopher?" I called again, making hesitant steps back towards the shed.

I weaved my way back through the maze of rose bushes and sculptures, calling to Christopher all the while. He never answered and my footsteps and voice became more frantic as my anxiety rose. When I reached the tool shed, I found that he was not there either. All I found was a pile of clothing. An old shirt that was mostly patches and trousers that were much too short. I picked them up and held them against me. Worried tears pricked at my eyes as my heart beat out of my chest. Either Christopher had decided to run around naked in the garden or the spell had made him evaporate into nothingness. The last few lines of the spell screamed inside my head. "Without its poisonous Guardian, the wolves will devour the rose. Without the thorn, the rose will die."

"Did you lose something, dear?" Rosalyn's cackle froze my blood instantly.

Swallowing back tears, I turned to face them, my tormentors, my captors and my own flesh and blood. "What have you done with him, you witch!" I screamed, baring my teeth at her like a wild animal.

"Me? I have done nothing to Thorn." She scoffed, her black eyes boring burning holes into my skin. She pointed her finger at the notes that were now balled up in my fist. "This was you're doing."

"You gave me the translations for some other spell." I grit my teeth at the wave of pain that crashed over me from head to foot. I was an absolute idiot. I should have listened to Christopher…when I had the chance.

"Indeed. Did you really think that I'd give you the translations to the beast's spell when you two are so close?" She asked in a mocking tone. "You think that I'm a fool, but it is you who is stupid, if you believed that."

"Where is he? What did that spell do?" I demanded, chocking on sobs.

"He's gone, wiped clean from the fabric of reality, time and space. Only you and I remember him. It's as if he never existed at all."

"Undo it! Undo it now!" I screeched, falling to my knees. A searing burn was creeping up from the base of my spine, tearing away at my muscles, pulling them away from the bone. "Please, I won't try anything like this again! I'll be a good, faithful student from here on! Just give him back!" I clawed at the grass, digging my nails into the soil. I knew full well what I was getting myself into and the knowledge of it was enough to make me wretch, spilling my breakfast into the grass. "Please. I want him to exist. Please." I coughed violently, splattering the ground with crimson blood.

Rosalyn's smile broadened. Her teeth peeked out from her painted lips, all of them jagged and sharp, ready to draw blood. She peered at me like a wolf at a wounded lamb. "I will on one condition, my dear niece. The Crafts are the founders of a secret organization of black arts practitioners, called the Smoke and Mirrors Club. If I undo this spell, you must promise, not only to take your lessons more seriously, but to join our club as well."

"I'll join your club. I'll do whatever you want, Rosalyn. Just give him back. A large tear rolled down my cheek and splashed against Christopher's shirt beneath me. "I cannot be alone again." I gasped painfully, feeling as if my lungs were being squeezed by some unseen hand. "Please, not again."

Rosalyn knelt beside me and touched my chin with her frigid fingers. "Go to your room, Isabel. Sleep and dream. When you wake, the beast will be in his garden once again and your life will belong to me." She flittered her fingers over my eyes and they at once drifted closed.

A beautiful woman slept peacefully in her coffin of glass. Roses were placed all around her, as if she were one of the angels in Christopher's garden. A man's warm hand held mine as we entered the room where the woman lay. The man towered over me, everyone in the room did. I felt quite small, almost as if I were a child once more. I craned my head back to peer at the man's face and grinned when I saw my father's familiar features.

He looked much younger than I remembered. His hair still held a bit of its brown color and fewer lines creased his face. But he did not smile. His features were pinched with the sadness of mourning.

My father led me up to the glass coffin and hoisted me up so that I could get a better look inside. The woman was very beautiful. Black hair fell about her shoulders and heart shaped face in soft waves. Her skin was a pure ivory without a blemish in sight. Only slight lines around her mouth betrayed the fact that she had ever been mortal.

"Beatrix." I heard father whisper with a painful groaning sound. I looked up at his face as tears began falling from his dull brown eyes. He quickly covered his eyes with his free hand so that no one would see.

"Is Mama sleeping?" I asked, placing a hand on the glass over the woman's face. "Wake her up." I did not feel this deep sadness that was evident in my father. I did not understand that my mother was dead. Mother slept so often, I thought that surely this was only one of her long naps and that she would soon awaken and return to me and father.

Father let his hand fall away from his eyes. More tears pooled upon his lower lashes. "Isabel, Mama is not going to wake up. Her soul is no longer with us. She's with God now." He explained the name of the almighty spitting from his tongue as if saying the word burned it. I could see his anger and bitterness plainly in his eyes. He didn't understand why this was happening to him or why God had taken a mother from her child, a wife from her husband so soon and so horribly. He was angry, angry at God, angry at the world and most of all at Beatrix herself. "Say goodbye, Isabel. Your mother is to be buried soon."

I said my farewells and placed a yellow rose upon the glass coffin. It stood out starkly among the crimson petals of those that surrounded it. Still the true meaning of death escaped me. Surely this was not permanent. Father was wrong. Mother would wake up soon from her nap and she and I would play the piano together before I went to bed, just as we always did.

Father sat me down and I watched him inquisitively as he bent over the coffin to place a kiss on the glass that separated him from his dead wife's lips. He lingered there a moment, gazing down at her placid face with warring emotions of anger and love. "Why?" He asked the dead woman. "Why can't I wake you?"

I awoke in the night at the feeling of a warm hand against my skin. Christopher was sitting in a chair by my bedside, absently sliding his fingers lightly over my arm. He was looking intently at the open pocket watch in his free hand. He wore a distant expression, his eyes soft and his feline lips pulled into a small smile. The air rang with the faint ticking of clockwork. The room was very dark. No candles were lit and the only light came from the moon outside my windows. That bit of light reflected in Christopher's animal like eyes. They glinted like silver coins in the dark.

"Christopher?" I squeaked, my voice hoarse.

Christopher jumped noticeably and quickly snapped the pocket watch closed. He hid it away in his lap. "You're finally awake. You've been sleeping for the past two days." He said, obviously trying to avoid explaining what he was doing.

"Two days?" I gasped.

"Yes. It was Rosalyn's doing I'm guessing. I told you not to read that spell."

"I'm so sorry, Christopher." I replied with a shaky voice. "I should have listened. I just want so desperately to help you. Now I've only made things worse for myself. Rosalyn wants me to join that club of hers."

"I know." He harrumphed like a cat that had just been kicked off its favorite cushion as he left his chair. "This is exactly what I've been trying to protect you from Isabel. Once you're a member of the Smoke and Mirrors Club, you'll be well on your way to becoming an enchantress yourself. When your induction comes, you'll no longer have a choice. You'll belong to the dark spirit. Soon you'll be just like her, cruel and only interested in obtaining that which will benefit you." He glared down at the floor, his mouth twisted in a snarl. "I'm going to lose you. Slowly but surely you're going to fade away and there's nothing I can do about it. He flexed his clawed fingers as he looked upon their scarred palms. "I have more strength now than most men will ever have in their entire lives, yet I still can't do a damn thing when it matters the most."

"Stop talking like that." I huffed, hoisting myself into a sitting position and kicking the blankets from my legs. "You are my friend are you not?"

Christopher tried without success to make me lie down again. "Of course I am." He said hesitantly. His eyes darted away from my face as he was overcome with embarrassment.

I touched his face and the warmth of my hand gave him a bit of courage, enough at least that he looked me in the eye. "Then you should have more faith in me." I said. "I don't believe that I will change so easily."

"You are a strong woman, Isabel. That is certain. However, you have one weakness for Rosalyn to extort."

"What is my weakness?" I asked Christopher as we stood together in the dark.

"Your pity for me," He said. His feline lips spread into a grimace. He looked like he was in great pain. I felt the now familiar pang of sorrow in my heart. It hurt me even more to know that I was the one who was inflicting his wounds. How painful it must have been for him to know that I looked on him in such a way, that I thought of him as a creature to be pitied and not as a man who needed to be loved. The worst part was knowing that I could not deny any of it. "She's already begun to use me as her bargaining chip. She knows you will do anything to right the wrong she has committed against me." Christopher said softly.

"I cannot sit back quietly and let her do as she pleases to you. She'll kill you if I don't do as she asks!" I yelled. He was always asking me not to care about him, when I knew that he truly desired the exact opposite.

"Then let her! She's already killed me, Isabel! I don't matter anymore! I'm not worth throwing away your soul for!" He yelled back.

I glared venomously at him. He was always so willing to sacrifice himself for my sake, but I was too selfish to allow him to do that any longer. "You do matter!" I screamed.

Christopher stared at me in shock, his eyes large and mouth slightly open. "You matter to me, Christopher. You're my friend and I care about you. Please, if there is any love for me in your heart, you will stop talking about yourself like you are already dead. Even if it is true."

Christopher drew close and took me up into his soft embrace. His arms encircled me gently as he was careful not to hug me too tightly. He didn't say a word and neither did I. The room around us was silent. The only sound was the racing of Christopher's heart as he held me against him. This was the closest we had ever been to each other. For a moment, I allowed myself to picture Christopher in his human form and saw only the masked version of him I had seen in my nightmare. Would there ever be a day when I could see his real face? Try as I might, I couldn't picture the face that might lie beneath the curse. Even in my dreams, he was masked. 


End file.
